


Enough Is Enough

by loves_books



Category: A-Team (2010), A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 10:54:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 42,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Face has had enough of living life on the run. Will Hannibal be able to let him go, or will he finally admit how much he loves Face?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enough Is Enough

It’s a quiet moment of realisation, not a blinding flash of insight, and Face can almost feel his heart break in two as he lies there on the flimsy motel mattress, the familiar sounds of Murdock and BA bickering drifting through the wall, the running water in the bathroom telling him Hannibal is still in the shower.

Another shitty motel room in another faceless, nameless town. Another job finished, another one of Hannibal’s ‘missions’ involving small-time crooks, desperate families, and very few surprises. They got paid this time at least, hence the motel room rather than sleeping bags in the van for the millionth time, though Face thinks he’s got a beach house lined up for a few days next week if his contact comes through, thanks to a well-oiled con.

Cons he’s used a thousand times now, routines he can do in his sleep, getting the team what they need to do the job. Stretching their money as far as it can go, trying to tuck a little something away for a rainy day. He doesn’t really think Hannibal, BA or Murdock realise just how tight their cash situation always is. They seem to assume he can scam whatever they need, but Face knows better than most that money really does make the world go around.

So many of the jobs they take end up being charity cases, or end with them being paid barely enough to cover their expenses. And he feels like a jackass every time they get a bigger job, a corporate job or something ex-military, when he knows the money will be better and he knows he will be able to relax a little, for a week or so at least, before Hannibal finds the next corner-shop owner being bullied by a local gang, or BA finds a youth centre in need of protection, or Murdock finds yet another animal shelter that doesn’t need any real help except for some strong hands to clean out kennels for a few days.

He feels like a jackass because he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, the work they do is important, the people they help always at their wits end. The team are often the answer to many desperate prayers. It isn’t saving the world the way it was when they were the best Alpha Unit in the Rangers, but in the eyes of their ‘clients’ they are superheroes, or even angels, all the same.

And yes, of course he gets a buzz out of that feeling. He doesn’t ride the ‘jazz’ quite as much as Hannibal, but he knows himself well enough to admit he enjoys the gratitude that comes their way. But that warm, fuzzy feeling doesn’t last as long as it used to. All too quickly it fades away, often getting left behind when they drive as fast as they can to the next town, before the military get wind of where they are, leaving him exhausted and drained, and empty. Numb.

They’ve been doing this for six years now. Six years of running, always running, moving, helping out here and there before running again. The military are still looking for them, though thankfully in a less focussed and urgent way than those first two years after the mess at the LA docks. Sosa has long since been taken off their case – last he heard, she’d finally made Major – and an old nemesis of Hannibal’s, a Colonel Decker, is leading the search. They get close from time to time, but the team have gotten good at hiding. It’s been months since they even caught a glimpse of Decker, yet still they run.

With a sigh, Face rolls carefully onto his side, staring out the window at the too-bright streetlamp. The light seems to spear his skull, reawakening the last tendrils of the headache he hasn’t quite been able to shake for a week now, not since he spent a couple of hours as the ‘guest’ of the latest bad guy of the week. Why do the baddies always go for the head first, he wonders, reaching one hand up gingerly to feel the four stitches hidden in his hairline, the bump finally fading away. But he doesn’t close his eyes, letting the light fill his vision, driving away the view of the latest dingy room they are calling home.

How long can his body keep doing this? How many blows to the head before something serious gets knocked loose? He’s in his forties now, as are Murdock and BA, while Hannibal is pushing sixty. They’ve been lucky, doing what they do, lots of minor injuries over the years but few that have been particularly serious, just the odd gunshot wound here and there.

He laughs quietly to himself at that. Just the odd gunshot wound.

How long can they keep riding their luck? Murdock’s meds have proved consistently difficult to get hold of, though again Face has developed numerous scams, created fake paper trails and false IDs, and thankfully his best friend has stayed relatively stable despite their decidedly unstable lives. A lot of that is down to the team, he knows, this crazy family of theirs. They are everything to Murdock – hell, they are everything to Face as well – and without that support he can’t imagine how their pilot would cope. 

It was hard enough coping last year when BA broke his ankle and couldn’t walk, let alone drive. It was harder still the year before when Hannibal burned both his hands so badly they were bandaged and useless for months on end. If Murdock has a breakdown, or if one of them is captured, tortured… A cold shiver runs down his spine. He can’t even think about that, but at the same time it’s his job to think about it, to wonder what might happen. Hannibal is the man with a plan, always, but Face is the man who has to deal with the details.

It’s more than just the job, though, he knows that. It’s been growing in him for a long time now, probably since he got down on one knee and offered Charissa that diamond ring, this need for something more, something real, something just for him. Life on the run leaves no room for dating, and while he hasn’t exactly gone without sex, he’s getting tired of the nameless, mindless fucking with whatever girl or guy he can find. He seduces and flirts for the team too, whenever he is ordered to, and there have even been times where the team was so broke that he resorted to using his body to get what they needed. The guys don’t know about that, and he’d never tell them. That’s all just sex, not what he really wants.

He wants someone to take care of him for a change; someone to love him, not just in the way the team does, but in the way he wishes Hannibal would. He wants a home, he wants belongings – his childhood was spent living in hand-me-downs, his army life spent living out of a kitbag, but by this stage in his life he’d always thought he would have put down a few roots, even if it was just an apartment near Benning for between missions. Instead, they have had to start from scratch far too many times in these six years, forced to run and taking nothing with them. He still has his dog-tags, and he doesn’t dare take them off anymore, not ever. They are all he has left.

No, that’s not quite true. He has his team as well, his family. His two brothers-in-arms, his best friends, as well as his Colonel. Hannibal Smith. He’s been with Hannibal more than half his life at this point, and it physically hurts to imagine not having the older man by his side. He may never have truly belonged to Hannibal in the way he wants, but he’s always been more than content to stay as close as he can, taking whatever he can get. Close has always been good enough. Now, he wonders if he still believes that. 

The silence eventually seeps into his mind and he realises the shower is off, meaning Hannibal will soon be joining him, so he closes his eyes, faking sleep. Yet again, the motel had no twin rooms, meaning he gets to spend another night sharing a bed with his colonel. Another night feeling Hannibal’s heat warm him, yet never feeling Hannibal hold him the way he longs for.

It’s a quiet moment of realisation, not a blinding flash of insight, but Face just knows he can’t do this anymore. As Hannibal moves quietly around their tiny room before eventually lifting the blankets to slide carefully into the bed, as Face feels the flimsy mattress dip with the older man’s weight, he also feels the sting of emotion behind his eyes, tightening his throat. He’s had enough of living like this, and that isn’t just because it’s been a bad day, or a bad week, or a bad year. It’s because, at some point, you have to be honest with yourself and admit that maybe, just maybe, enough is enough. 

* * *

As they always do, things look brighter in the cold light of day, and Face tries to push his feelings to the back of his mind, locking them up tightly in a box and going about his usual morning routines. Shower, moisturise. He deals with his morning wood mechanically, trying to picture some busty blonde, but his mind insists on imagining a tall, strong older man with shining silver hair. Not Hannibal, he tells himself. It could be anyone. 

By midmorning, Hannibal has them packed up and on the move again, and the team find a diner a little way down the road, stopping off for breakfast. Sitting in a tiny booth with cracked leather seats, Hannibal’s warm bulk pressed against his side, with Murdock swatting randomly at imaginary butterflies around BA’s head while the big guy threatens to pummel him if he doesn’t stop… Face just sits there in that tiny booth and soaks it all up, a smile hovering on his lips.

Things always look brighter in the light of day, he tells himself. Watching these three men, men he knows as well as he knows himself, he can almost predict who will say what to whom, and what the response will be, although admittedly Murdock is always a bit of a wild card.

“Butterflies eatin’ your brain, Facey?” Point proved.

Face blinks a couple of times, realising all three of them are watching him closely. BA looks a little bemused, probably glad to have their pilot’s attention directed elsewhere for a moment, while Hannibal looks more than a little concerned, a question in those pale blue eyes of his. Murdock, on the other hand, is watching the space around Face’s head with a fierce look of concentration on his face, before suddenly he reaches forwards over the table.

It takes everything Face has not to flinch away as his friend swats at the empty space by his right ear, waiting until Murdock falls back into his own seat looking satisfied before he asks, “Think ya got it, buddy?”

“Yup!” Murdock looks a little like the cat that got the cream for a second, before he immediately turns his attention back to BA, who immediately starts complaining all over again. Face just shakes his head fondly. He’d miss this, he really would. These are the moments he wants more of, moments where they are just another group of friends hanging out. He can almost pretend they aren’t on the run, almost imagine they have homes and families to return to.

He turns his head slightly, only to find Hannibal still watching him carefully. “You sure you’re okay, kid? You’ve been pretty quiet this morning.” There is genuine concern in the older man’s soft voice.

How is it that Hannibal can always see right through him? “I’m okay, Boss, honest.”

“Your head still hurting? You should be over that concussion by now…” Hannibal starts to reach one hand up to him, but Face catches it before his healing injury can be checked yet again. 

“It’s fine, Hannibal, really. I’m fine.” He keeps hold of that strong hand a moment, plastering on his biggest smile. “I’m just hungry.” As if summoned, their waitress chooses that moment to start bringing out the mountain of food the team have ordered, and Hannibal nods, seeming happy to let it drop for now.

Face tries his hardest to be more his usual self as they eat, joining in as they trade familiar insults, jokes and laughter. It amazes him that, even after all these years together, they never run out of conversation. They really are a family, a very strange family of course, but the only family he has ever know, the only family he can ever imagine having.

He’s going to miss this so much.

The thought sneaks through the shields he’s put up, hitting him hard, tying his stomach in knots, and he drops his knife and fork to the table with a clatter. The toast and eggs he’s already eaten suddenly feel like concrete in his belly as everything comes flooding back to him.

He covers his moment of distress by taking a long drink of his lukewarm instant coffee. Turns out, things aren’t any brighter in the light of day after all. Things are just as pointless and never-ending as they seemed in the middle of the night, but at least he isn’t alone. His family are all here. Hannibal is here.

Speaking of Hannibal, Face manages to pull himself back together just as the boss interrupts BA and Murdock, who are still arguing about butterflies for some unknown reason.

“Think I got a good lead on our next job, boys.” Hannibal leans back against the booth, pushing his empty plate away and stretching his long body slightly. For one irrational moment Face wishes again he had the older man’s metabolism – if he’d eaten that much fried food he’d never fit into his skinny jeans again – but then the meaning of Hannibal’s words hits him, and his heart sinks.

“Thought we were having a couple of days off?” he asks, trying to keep his voice steady. “Got us a beach house lined up and everything…”

“Yeah, but this is a good one, kid. Big company, big payday.” Hannibal nudges him in the ribs. “Don’t think I don’t notice you stressing about our finances. Don’t want you getting worry lines!”

Subtly feeling at his forehead – he doesn’t have worry lines, surely? – Face tries to pay attention as Murdock and BA pepper Hannibal with questions. And to be fair, it does sound like a good job, a worthwhile job with the added bonus of a corporate jet for Murdock to play with, but all he can think is ‘here we go again’.

“Beach house, Boss,” he tries again. “Right on the beach. Barbecue area, private driveway.” Hannibal gives him a strange look, and he decides to offer a nugget of truth. “I just need a break.”

“After this job, Face, I promise we’ll get the biggest beach house you ever saw. I’ll even scam it for you.” Hannibal pulls a cigar from his pocket and starts chewing on the end, unable to light up indoors, looking pleased with himself. But Face knows, despite the colonel’s good intentions, there will be another job lined up after this. Followed by another, and another – “Right now, we need to be in Ohio in two days’ time.”

Great, another two days spent cramped in the back of the van, driving twenty four hours a day, and he can’t quite keep back his groan. 

“You okay, Facey?” Now Murdock looks worried, and Face feels terrible for bringing his best friend down to earth.

He can’t do this. He can’t leave but he can’t stay. And he doesn’t have the faintest idea how to put his feelings into words. He drops his gaze to his congealing eggs, not brave enough to look his friends in the eye. “You ever think about maybe doing something else with our lives?”

For a moment there is silence, then Bosco’s rare, precious laughter fills the booth, quickly joined by Murdock’s infectious giggling. Hannibal’s silence speaks volumes.

“Good one, Face,” BA finally manages to say. “What, me in a suit, goin’ to some office every day? And what about crazy, here?”

“I’d have to get a haircut,” Murdock giggles, and yes, his hair has gotten ridiculously long recently. “Ain’t no airline gonna hire me like this!”

“You could do the whole door-to-door salesman routine, maybe, Faceman.” BA again, his laughter fading to calmer giggles as Murdock drops his head against the big guy’s shoulder with a thud. “I can just picture it!”

The trouble is, Face actually can picture it. Not BA in a suit, necessarily – he can imagine his friend working in his own little garage, maybe, or with one of those kid’s centres he feels so passionately about. Not Murdock working for a big airline, but maybe teaching flying, or spending his days doing loop-the-loops in a crop-duster. As for himself, well, he could do anything really, and the thought makes his head spin. Salesman, office worker, maybe gardening, something outdoors. Anything but this.

Hannibal, though, maybe not. And it’s the thought of Hannibal stuffed into an ill-fitting suit, starved of his precious ‘jazz’, that makes him force a laugh and raise his head a little higher.

“Yeah, maybe not, right?” He meets BA’s proffered fistbump, leans over so he can ruffle Murdock’s shaggy hair, bumps shoulders with Hannibal. “So, Ohio then, huh Boss?”

Years spend studying Hannibal tells him that the colonel isn’t entirely convinced by his sudden interest, but Hannibal starts outlining the job and his rough plans, while BA calls for more pancakes and Murdock asks the waitress if she knows where he can buy a butterfly net. 

Face takes notes as he always does, asking questions as he always does, but deep down he knows he’s only going through the motions. One more waste of time job, one more week of not having the life he wants. But at least it’s one more week with his family, he tries to tell himself. He can do this for them, right? 

* * *

One more week turns into one more month, the job more complex and involved than any of them expected, and by the time things are finally wrapped up to Hannibal’s satisfaction, it is taking everything Face has left not to scream at the whole situation.

Yes, it was a good job, in the sense that there were real lives at risk, innocent people’s jobs on the line. There was a good company and a bad one, with mafia links, and there were plenty of gunfights to keep the adrenaline going, along with lots of scamming and forging of documents to keep Face’s mind off things. There were machines to build for BA, secretaries for both Face and Hannibal to charm, and Murdock got to fly that corporate jet just as often as he could find an excuse.

At the end of it all there was a very grateful company director with a large wad of cash, and as always the team rode off into the sunset, victorious once more.

Except it all feels so hollow now. Despite his determination to stick it out for the sake of his team, despite his ability to scam and con and fool whoever they need to, Face can’t fool himself any longer. Each step of the way he’s felt himself struggle, almost able to predict the twists and turns the job has taken. He flirted mechanically with the pretty secretary, able to fake it well enough to have her purring in his arms, and he knows he’s done his job well, hopes he hasn’t given Hannibal any reason to worry. But it’s almost been like watching himself perform from a distance, an out of body experience. It’s almost as if, now he’s realised what he really wants from his life, there is no way on earth this can ever be enough, team or no team.

Thanks to their more-than-reasonable pay day, Hannibal has sprung for a more-than-reasonable motel suite on the way to their next job. Two bedrooms, living room slash dining room slash kitchen, with a pull-out sofa bed. A fake home. The promised beach house is on hold yet again, as Face knew it would be, another job already lined up. He knows the team has to take the work whenever they can, but he’s choking back the urge to just snap at Hannibal to stop the ride and let him the fuck off.

As ever, the team didn’t come out of the job in one piece. BA has a side full of stitches and a couple of cracked ribs, while Hannibal is sporting an impressive black eye, adding to his rugged handsomeness. Murdock is in mourning after his favourite red cap was last seen floating downstream – they’ve had to promise to hold a memorial service soon – while Face himself still hasn’t quite regained normal feeling in his left arm or hand after a fairly nasty electric shock. The pins and needles sensation adds to the feeling of how surreal this all seems right now, sitting on a stool and listening as the guys laugh and joke, bags of takeout food filling every possible surface.

Hannibal keeps throwing concerned glances in his direction, but Face can’t quite muster up the energy to fake a smile. He’s so very tired of everything right now, and it’s all he can do to just sit there, poking half-heartedly at the limp salad by his side.

Another burst of laughter from the couch, Murdock bravely – or stupidly – holding BA’s burger just out of his reach, and Face winces as a corresponding spasm runs from his elbow to wrist, making his left hand jump in his lap. “Stop,” he whispers, wrapping his right hand tight around his left wrist, hugging his quivering arm close to his body.

The laughing pair on the couch either don’t notice or don’t care, but Hannibal quietly puts his burger down, eyes on Face, and that sudden focus is too much.

“Stop it,” he says again, louder now, and something finally gets through to BA and Murdock, who freeze in mid-fight. “Just… enough.”

“Facey?” Murdock’s voice is quiet, confused, and he doesn’t seem to notice the ketchup dripping down his hand. 

“You okay, Face?” With a wince, BA leans forward enough to snatch his dinner back, and Face wishes he could smile at that, really he does. “You still gettin’ aftershocks over there?”

His breathing is speeding up, a lump in his throat, everything rising to the surface now, and for a long moment Face just shakes his head before finding his voice again. “It’s enough now, guys. Enough…”

“Face? Are you - ?”

“Just, please…” He can’t let Murdock finish, squeezing his eyes shut. “I can’t do this, I can’t…”

“Told you ya should’ve had a burger, man. That salad looks half-dead.” Confusion even in BA’s deep voice now, though he’s trying to keep things light and Face wants to hit him for that. “Maybe we should get you that beach house after all, Face. You lookin’ tired, brother.”

And it’s that one word that almost breaks him, almost makes him stop, swallow down his feelings yet again, but he just can’t. The image of one of the families they helped in this last job, their little girl hugging his leg so tightly it had taken both her daddies to pull her off him… The thought of what those two men had with each other, what he can never have with Hannibal, or with anyone else living like they do… That image alone gives him the strength to carry on. “I am tired, Bosco,” he agrees, eyes still closed, balanced on his stool. Balanced between their past and his future. “I’m tired of all this, tired of living like this. Tired of burgers and fries and motel rooms and - ”

“Oh! Oh! My turn!” He can picture Murdock bouncing up and down on the couch, trying to join in a new game, not understanding. “Tired of driving for days and days! Tired of not being able to walk Billy as much as he wants! Tired of not being able to fly every day! Tired of the sock puppets not havin’ - ”

“I’m tired of all your crazy talk, fool. Shut the hell up!”

Nothing but silence from where Hannibal is sat, and Face finds the strength to force his eyes open and look in the colonel’s direction. Hannibal hasn’t moved even an inch, pale eyes still watching him intently, his face carefully blank.

“No.” Face interrupts BA before he and Murdock can get into another fight, another argument, though he keeps his eyes on his colonel as he states it as plainly as he can. “I’m tired of everything. I can’t do this anymore. I’ve just… I’ve had enough. And I’m so sorry.”

A long moment of silence. All four of them seem frozen in time, and maybe he’s just dreaming, maybe this isn’t real after all. But then, in the blink of an eye, everything starts moving again, unstoppable momentum building.

“Sorry?” BA sounds stunned, and Face peels his eyes away from Hannibal’s inscrutable face to watch his friend drop his burger back into its box. “What exactly are you sayin’, man? Had enough of what? Enough of us? The team?”

He hasn’t planned this, hasn’t worked out how to explain things. Never thought he would be able to tell them. Never thought he could actually say the words he needs to say. “Not the team. The way we live, this whole ‘soldiers of fortune’ thing.”

“It’s the same thing.” Anger now, replacing his friend’s initial shock. “We’re wanted fugitives, Face, this is all we got goin’ for us. We got each other and we got the way we live, the way we survive.”

“There are other options, Bosco, there always have been.” Releasing his left wrist a moment, Face runs his good hand through his hair, trying to explain, trying to put everything he feels into words that won’t push his friends away. “We can start again. New identities, new lives, anything. You know I can do the paperwork, no problems.”

“You’re really serious? Just fake it all, blend in with the nine-to-five crowd?” BA’s words are bitter and almost cruel as he spits out, “I ain’t no scam artist like you.”

“Corporal.” Hannibal’s sudden bark cuts through BA’s anger and Face’s struggle, and they all turn as one towards the older man, waiting for him to step in. But with a simple warning shake of his head, Hannibal falls silent once more, eyes drifting back to lock onto Face’s again.

But Face turns to Murdock instead. BA’s anger he expected, but his best friend is so much more unpredictable. Murdock looks devastated, paler than he’s been for a long time. “Don’t you ever think of the possibilities?” he starts, trying to smile a little. “A real life…”

“What’s real?” Murdock asks simply, and that’s a good question, Face thinks. Murdock’s voice is nothing but a whisper as he continues. “We agreed, when we broke out. We agreed this was the best way, the only way. And it works, Facey, you know it does.”

“I know. But it’s been six years now. We’re still wanted men; nothing’s changed, but everything’s changed. I guess I always thought - ”

“You ain’t thought of nothin’, man.” BA slips one arm around their pilot almost unconsciously, always protective, always their big brother. “You want out? You really want out, you wanna break up the team?”

“I don’t know.” That’s the most honest he can be. He isn’t explaining himself at all well. He doesn’t want to leave them, but he can’t do this… “I don’t know how to explain. I don’t want to lose you all, but I just want more than this. I know that seems selfish - ” And boy does BA snort loudly at that statement “ – and you are my family, all of you. I just can’t live like this any longer.” He twists back to face Hannibal, appealing to that stony face as a last resort. “Am I really the only one who has thought this? We’re getting older, and I want a home, I want love. Am I the only one who can say that?” His voice cracks a little, and, apart from a flicker deep in those pale blue eyes, still nothing from their colonel. Does Face really mean that little to Hannibal after all these years?

Murdock speaks up one more time, his own voice also full of emotion. “We love you, Face. Isn’t that enough?”

Squeezing his eyes shut briefly, hating the single tear that he feels escape and roll down his cheek, Face rises slowly from his stool, shaking his head. He needs air, needs space. He doesn’t know how he thought they would react, but he did think that at least Hannibal would say something, would try to convince him he was wrong, that the team was all he really needed. He can’t sit there any longer, facing BA’s anger, Murdock’s hurt and confusion, Hannibal’s complete indifference. 

There is suddenly no oxygen in the room, and he’s moving for the door fast, left arm dangling loosely at his side. Dimly he hears BA calling for Hannibal to do something, say something, “talk some sense into that crazy fool”, but still silence from the only man whose opinion Face has ever really valued.

Pausing in the doorway for a moment, looking back at the three men he considers his family, he has to get out, needs to gather his thoughts. “I’m sorry,” he offers, knowing it can never be enough. “I just can’t do this anymore.” And he’s gone. 

* * *

Face won’t have run far, Hannibal knows, not this late at night, not exhausted and hurting as he so obviously is. Hurting from more than just the electricity, as he now realises. He hadn’t expected the kid to just run, so suddenly, while Hannibal was still trying to take everything in. He wishes he’d spoken up a little sooner instead of trying to let Face explain himself, giving him the space and time to gather his thoughts.

Sure enough his Lieutenant, his boy, hasn’t even left the motel complex. Hannibal spies him as soon as he steps out of their suite, leaving a stunned and confused Murdock and BA still sat on the couch, their food long forgotten. Pulling his jacket on against the misty rain, Face’s own jacket in his hands, he walks slowly to where the kid is perched, halfway up a set of cold metal stairs, head hanging, looking utterly miserable.

“Here,” he says softly, draping the jacket across Face’s shoulders as he lowers himself to sit on the same step. Face makes no move to pull it closer, not lifting his head even, so Hannibal adjusts it carefully, tucking it loosely around the kid’s left arm. Up close, he can see Face shivering a little, though whether that is from the rain or the electric shock or just the sheer emotion, Hannibal can’t tell. He resists the urge to pull the hood up for him, selfishly wanting to see his boy’s face, though as always he feels the need to wrap Face up and make sure he stays safe and protected. He’s failed this time.

“You okay?” he starts, knowing that whatever one-word answer Face gives will be his starting point for this conversation he always knew, deep down, would come one day. When the answer finally does come, the rawness of the emotion rocks him where he sits.

“No.” Face is still refusing to lift his head, but he shuffles a little further into his jacket, arm still cradled against his side. “No, I’m not.” It’s little more than a sigh, but that fact that his lieutenant isn’t even trying to pretend everything is fine… That tells him just how serious this really is.

“Come here.” Not avoiding the conversation, because that certainly isn’t his style, but Hannibal feels a need to be in contact with Face. Knowing an arm around the boy’s shoulders would send him up and away, he settles for gently lifting Face’s left arm into his lap, starting to slowly rub some feeling back into the quivering limb.

“Hannibal, you don’t need to…”

“I know I don’t. Let me.” Let me in, is what he really wants to say, but he can see just how much the confrontation has already taken out of Face, knows the kid will need to come at things in his own time. He doesn’t need to be peppered with questions, or shouted at. If he’s learnt anything at all about Face in all these years, then he can guess at just how much this must have been eating away at him.

Face doesn’t resist as Hannibal continues to knead his forearm carefully, tenderly almost. The moment he saw his boy thrown across with the room, whole body shaking from the force of the electricity, Hannibal’s own heart had almost stopped. He knows from bitter experience how the aftershocks can almost be worse than the original shock itself, the feeling that your muscles and nerves are conspiring against you, and sure enough he can feel the taut muscles firing involuntarily, Face’s hand twitching, those long elegant fingers curling and uncurling.

“I didn’t want to do this,” Face suddenly blurts, still staring at the step below, and Hannibal wonders for a moment which part he means. This last mission? The last six years? Or just – “Tonight I mean. I didn’t want to do it like this.”

“You weren’t planning to tell us.” It isn’t a question, it’s a revelation. He’d thought Face’s arguments were a little too uncoordinated for his usually smooth-talking conman. A little too emotional for a man who guards his feelings closely. Impulsive almost.

“Not like that, no. I hadn’t even decided if I was ever going to say anything. The last thing I wanted was to just, I don’t know… Blurt it out like that.” And Face lifts his head at last, damp curls forming a halo of sorts around his handsome face, a rueful smile on those full lips. “My great sense of timing seems to have deserted me tonight.”

Suddenly, the punch to the gut seems to hit Hannibal, his mind reeling. Until now, he’d half thought that Face might have been exaggerating his feelings, throwing a little tantrum – it wouldn’t be the first time, and Hannibal was more than used to dealing with those – but if he had been thinking about this, planning this…

“So you’re serious. White picket fence, wife, two-point-six kids?”

Face huffs an awkward little laugh. “The fence is optional, but having someone to go home to every night? Hell, a home of my own?” Hannibal feels the muscles in the kid’s arm twitch yet again, and he resumes his massage, not knowing when he had stopped. Face leans in towards his body a little more as he continues, “Yeah, I’m serious. I can’t do this anymore, Boss. I just want – No, I need something more.”

Thinking back, Hannibal suddenly has a flash of insight. He remembers just before their latest job, joking around in a roadside diner about doing something else with their lives, BA in a suit. Face had looked so very serious for a second before he laughed along with the team, and the colonel just knew he should have asked, should have pushed.

But Face doesn’t deal well when he is pushed, and he’s always been hard to read, especially when it comes to the big important issues. “You could have told me,” he murmurs, and yes, it does hurt a little that his second has been feeling like this and hiding it from him for goodness knows how long. He’s always cherished the closeness the two of them share, always valued whatever confidences Face has trusted him with.

“I thought you’d be mad.” Face sounds so much like a little boy in that moment, confessing to eating the last cookie or treading mud into the carpet. Hannibal slides his hands down to manipulate those long, delicate fingers in his lap as his boy asks, “Why aren’t you mad?”

He shakes his head. “How could I be mad about this? I can’t order any of you to do anything anymore; you do this because you want to or it doesn’t work.” He’s explained this to all of them, time and time again in those first few manic months on the run. It has always been their choice. They’ve always chosen to stay. “So, talk to me, Templeton. Tell me where this is coming from?”

And to his relief, Face takes a deep breath, closing his cold fingers around Hannibal’s, and starts to talk.

* * *

It seems easier out here, sitting in the rain with Hannibal beside him, holding his hand. All the things he couldn’t put into words indoors, the thoughts he’s had, the feelings which have threatened to overwhelm him for so long now. Everything just pours out of him, his words landing in the silence of the night like the raindrops which continue to spatter onto the metal steps.

And Hannibal hardly says a word, just letting him talk. Face realises now that his colonel was trying to do the same thing before, inside, when he fell over his own words, when BA and Murdock’s reactions threw him from what little balance he had.

The boss has a couple of questions as he talks on, squeezing Face’s hand or wrist gently to stop his stream of words. “How long?” he asks at one point. How long has he been feeling like this.

“Six weeks,” he whispers at first, then, “Six years. I don’t know.” And, taking a tighter hold of his hand, anchoring him to reality rather than letting him drift into dreams, Hannibal lets Face talk on. 

He talks until the words run dry, until the emotions burning in his chest threaten to overpower him again. He’s honest with Hannibal about almost everything, talking a little about Charissa though not much. That’s long over, and well buried. Hannibal doesn’t seem to judge him for wanting more from his life, even nodding a little in agreement at some points, especially when he mentions longing for someone who doesn’t want him in return. Of course, he leaves Hannibal’s name out of that; no reason to embarrass the proud colonel by throwing himself at his feet now.

“I think I understand, a little, Temp,” Hannibal finally says, when he’s talked himself into silence. “You want some stability in your life. Hell, you deserve that much. The life you’ve had up to now - ”

“Don’t, Hannibal,” he snaps. “Don’t make this about the little orphan boy, no home, no family. Cliché, right?”

“Must be a part of it, though.” And, taking a breath, broken as wide open as he’s ever been in front of Hannibal, Face has to acknowledge that maybe it is. “I had a fairly normal life until I signed up,” the older man continues. “Murdock had his grandparents and the ranch, Bosco still has his Mama.”

“Not so much right now.” It’s been weeks since they even found a way to call Mama B and let them know her son was alright, and he feels terrible about that.

“No, I guess not, kid.”

And that nearly snaps him in two again. “Don’t do that either. I’m not a kid anymore, John. I haven’t been for a long time now.”

Hannibal rocks back a little, away from him, and Face suddenly feels bad. He doesn’t want to push any of them away, though it seems inevitable now. Hannibal of all of them, he wants close. Sitting like this, his hand wrapped in the colonel’s own, he can almost imagine what this would be like, the two of them together, building a home, a life.

“Believe me, I know.” Hannibal’s words snap him back to reality, and Face has to blink a few times to clear the sudden moisture from his eyes. Rain. It’s just the rain. “I’ve watched you grow up, remember?”

And there is the heart of the problem. Hannibal will only ever see him as some sort of surrogate son, Face knows that, so he plasters on a smile and asks, “So where do we go from here?”

* * * 

Hannibal has long since given up any pretence of massaging Face’s sore arm. The way the younger man is clinging to his hand just breaks his heart a little more. It’s already shattered from hearing the strongest and most heartfelt emotions, from a man who carefully guards his feelings. Face’s last question hangs in the air between them, and he tries to come up with an answer, a plan. “That’s up to you ki- Face. I think, above all, you need to explain this to BA and Murdock, just like you’ve explained it to me.”

A choked almost-sob from the man next to him, who hangs his head again. “You saw how they reacted, Boss. How can I possibly - ?”

“They were a little surprised.” To say the least. “They didn’t know anything was wrong.”

“And you did.” Not a question; Face knows him too well.

“I knew something was wrong, yes. But I didn’t know what.” He’d never even suspected, thinking maybe his boy just needed to go get laid. Face has always seemed to need that physical release, that contact. More than the team could ever give him, as much as Hannibal would have been more than willing. Yet, looking back over the last job, Face hadn’t taken the opportunity to go home with the charming blonde secretary. Nor the brunette with the cute glasses who worked on the jet. Instead, when not working, Face had spent long evenings with the some of the families who stood to lose their homes if the team failed. 

Hannibal remembers how one of the daughters of the workers had been so very taken with his XO, how Face had sat and played with her, letting her cling to his leg. The thought of Face as a father, a husband… He can just picture it. As always, he feels that familiar pang deep in his chest – if only the kid was gay, Hannibal would do everything he could to make him happy, but he can’t be a wife or mother. He can’t be what his boy wants so desperately.

When Face has been quiet for too long, Hannibal clears his throat and continues. “Whatever happens next is up to you. If you want to try it on your own, try to find a normal life, you know we’ll support you all the way. The boys will come around.” Face lifts his head again, watching Hannibal closely. “You’ll still be a wanted federal fugitive – that won’t change. But if any of us could make it, you could. My brilliant, wonderful boy.” He dares to lift one hand, smoothing Face’s soaked hair back from his forehead. “We’ll talk about it as a team, of course. This affects all our lives, but it has to be your choice. This is the one decision I can’t make for you.”

He’s done that too many times, maybe. Steered Face, guided him, helped him through some of the most difficult times in his adult life. If Face wants to stand by himself, then that has to start with his decision to stay or go. No matter how much Hannibal might want to fall to his knees and beg him to stay.

His Lieutenant seems to come to the same conclusion, nodding once, decisively, his blue eyes finally a little brighter. “Thank you,” he says softly, then immediately sighs. “I think I need some space, I need to do some more thinking. I don’t want to lose you - ” and he stares deep into Hannibal’s eyes, causing the colonel’s heart to leap in his chest, before he clarifies, “I don’t want to lose any of you.”

And then his kid – no, his man – is moving, squeezing Hannibal’s hand weakly one last time before carefully manoeuvring himself into his jacket properly and pulling up to a standing position. “Face…” Hannibal starts, not quite knowing what the other man is planning.

“Don’t worry, John. I’m not going to just vanish, I promise.” Again, that use of his given name, so unusual, and Hannibal can only watch as Face carefully tucks his left arm back against his side, shoulders a little hunched against the rain, before he walks lightly down the steps and into the night.

Aftershocks. Hannibal knows how long they can last. Whatever decision Face reaches, the aftershocks from tonight will hit them all. Murdock’s been so stable recently, but if he has to lose his best friend, anything could happen. Bosco and his anger issues are, on the surface, easier to deal with, but Hannibal knows he and Face have a quiet, close friendship which runs deep. Either one or both of them might choose to go with Face, and what would he do then? Could he try to live a normal life – No, he chokes that thought off. He doesn’t have it in him, not anymore.

He simply can’t imagine not having Face by his side. Selfishly, Hannibal prays to a god he doesn’t really believe in, prays Face will choose to stay with the team, but deep down, he knows he’s going to lose him.

Then he shakes himself, standing abruptly and heading down the steps towards their rooms and his other men, waiting to find out what the hell is going on.

How can he lose Face when he’s never really had him?

* * *

It had been a long night, and a long morning already, looking at the drained faces of his three men, sat close together on the sofa in front of him. Hannibal held out the bag he was carrying as they all looked up, and for a moment wondered if he should have stayed out longer. “I brought donuts.”

Face was the first to speak, sat between his two friends. They weren’t exactly small men, any of them, and they were jammed so closely together on that battered piece of furniture that most of Hannibal’s worries about leaving them alone had evaporated on sight. “Thanks, boss.” The kid sounded hoarse, as if he’d been talking too much, blue eyes red-rimmed and face pale, artful stubble just that fraction too long, making him look scruffier than normal. “I’m sure these guys could make a sizeable dent in them. But I might go grab forty winks, if that’s okay.”

“Sure thing, Face.” Hannibal had known last night that his lieutenant wouldn’t be up to talking any longer when he eventually returned. He’d never seen Face speak so openly about his feelings, never seen him so exposed, and knew he would take some time to pull himself back together again. So, after he’d watched Face walk away from him into the rainy night, he’d returned to find Murdock and BA still frozen where he’d left them, the motel room silent, the food cold and forgotten. 

“He’s serious,” he’d told them. “But he doesn’t know what to do.” Then he’d sent them off to bed, following them himself a couple of hours later but leaving his door open in the hope that Face would take the hint and join him. They never used a sofa-bed even when there was the option, they were so used to sharing a bed, and truth be told Hannibal knew he never slept as well when Face wasn’t safely tucked up beside him.

Instead, he’d fallen asleep before Face returned, and an early morning trip to the bathroom – getting old really sucked – had found the kid crashed out on the couch, not even bothering to pull the bed out. Hannibal must’ve been more exhausted than he’d realised, not to even hear his boy come in, and was pleased to see Face dry and tucked up under a mountain of blankets, even if it hurt that he hadn’t come in to their bed.

So now, Hannibal can fully believe Face needs a power nap. One look at those bloodshot eyes tells him the kid hadn’t slept well, probably wrestling with his decision, and so he nods now, watching Face exchange meaningful looks with his two teammates. Murdock is on Face’s left side and, much like Hannibal did last night, their pilot is holding tightly to his friend’s arm and hand. Now, he offers Face a small smile as he lets go, and the Lieutenant turns to BA as he stands, stretching that long, lean body Hannibal never tires of watching.

To Hannibal’s surprise, BA goes one step further than Murdock, standing too and pulling Face off his feet and into a quick, warm hug. He can’t miss the way the conman doesn’t even hesitate before wrapping his own arms around his friend’s back, holding tight.

It is over in an instant, and Face is off and moving without another word, into the bedroom where Hannibal had waited and worried last night. Now, the colonel sinks into the armchair, dropping the donuts to the table as BA sits back on the couch, Murdock shuffling along and lifting the big guy’s arm until he can snuggle under, clearly needing the contact.

“Damn, Boss,” BA murmurs softly. Whether consciously or not, he’s already hugging the smaller man into his side, and Hannibal has to fight back his smile. “Didn’t see that coming.”

“You both okay?” he asks, then, after receiving two shaky nods in answer, he adds, “Did he make a decision?”

“It’s tearing him in two, by the sounds of things.” Bosco again; Murdock hasn’t spoken a word yet. “I didn’t understand last night – thought he’d got sick of us, wanted to run off with some bimbo. But, it makes sense, I guess, him wantin’ all those things. He’s torn between stayin’ with us and tryin’ things on his own.”

Watching his pilot closely, Hannibal is starting to become a little concerned. “Murdock?” he asks gently. “What are you thinking?”

“That I don’t want him to go.” Murdock wipes his sleeve across his nose with a little sniffle that just about breaks the colonel’s heart. “That I like things the way they are, even the whole bein’ on the run thing. That I don’t want things to change.” He cranes his head up to look into BA’s eyes as he adds, voice a little stronger, “That I just want him to be happy.”

And isn’t that the heart of it all. BA nods in agreement, hugging Murdock a little tighter, and Hannibal stands, needing to move, walking through to fetch himself a mug of coffee from the pot already brewed. It’s the perfect strength – Face’s handiwork, and this is yet another thing that he’ll miss, when the kid goes. If he goes.

“This has to be Face’s decision,” Hannibal tells them as he returns to his seat, glancing briefly towards the closed door their Lieutenant is behind. How much of this can he hear? “I’ve told him that. We need to talk about it, but it’s his choice. And you both need to make a choice, too.” BA bristles immediately, and Murdock frowns, but Hannibal ploughs on. “It’s been six years now. We’re no closer to being free men. This will change things, even if he does decide to stay, and now is the time to think about yourselves, if you want more. Or different.” Damn, he’d rehearsed this speech already, driving back from the store, taking the longest route possible to give them more time to talk without him. But it’s coming out wrong, now he can see these two strong, stubborn men in front of him. This remarkable team of his. “You chose to follow me six years ago, to break out and go on the run. To live like we do – soldiers of fortune. But you both need to take some time - ”

“I don’t need no time, Colonel.” His corporal sits a little straighter. “I don’t want to stop. Yeah, I’d love to see my Mama more, but like you said, we’re still wanted. I’d never get close, and I ain’t goin’ back to prison. I ain’t cut out to live some fake ‘normal’ life, hidin’ under the noses of the MPs – Face can do it, if anyone can, but that ain’t me.” A brief pause, before Bosco continues,” I chose to follow you, Sir, and as long as you’ll let me, that’s what I’ll do.”

Heart swelling, throat a little tight after such a speech from his usually-quiet man, Hannibal just about manages a nod, swallowing hard. He’d always known he had BA’s loyalty – he knows they are all loyal to him – but hearing it stated that plainly… He feels the weight of command more heavily than he has in years.

“Me too.” Hannibal turns his eyes to Murdock, who is pulling himself up a little more, shrugging off BA’s heavy arm from his shoulders. “What he said, me too. Where would I go? What would I do, without you guys? I don’t need any time, Colonel, Sir. I’m stayin’.” And the Captain throws a perfect salute, or as near-perfect as he can while still sunk into the cushions of the old sofa.

BA echoes his teammate, and Hannibal returns their salutes before sighing a little. He can’t lie to himself: it’s a relief to know two of his men will stay, that they can continue as they have been, making some kind of difference in the world despite their fugitive status. But can they do it if Face leaves? Can Hannibal do this without his boy?

Does he even want to?

That thought hits him hard, and the room spins around him for a dizzying moment, before he forces it to settle. This isn’t about him. This is about Face, wanting a home, wanting a wife and babies and stability. Does it matter if Hannibal can’t do this without him? Suddenly, it becomes important that he talk to Face again. The younger man had worried he was being selfish, wanting more from his life, and now Hannibal worries that he is also being selfish, but they need to talk, they have to talk. There are things that need to be said.

“Eat these.” He nudges the forgotten bag of donuts across the small table towards the two men, before climbing slowly to his feet, suddenly feeling all of his near-sixty years. “Talk it over, or don’t. I need to check on our boy.”

* * * 

Head spinning, BA waits until the bedroom door has closed fully behind their colonel before reaching absently into the bag of donuts. The first is covered with icing and chocolate sprinkles, and he hands it straight to Murdock before finding a plain one for himself. Only then does he let himself sink back into the couch with a sigh, watching his friend curl into a ball at the opposite end. He feels terrible for the way he reacted last night, especially after hearing Face pour his heart out to them this morning, but he just hadn’t seen any of this coming. He doesn’t like surprises. 

“He ain’t doin’ well, is he?” Murdock’s soft observation startles him a little, pulling him from his thoughts before he can get too lost. 

“Face?” BA asks, taking a bite of his donut. It’s good, fresh and warm still. “Or Hannibal?” 

“Well, Face obviously isn’t so good right now. But I meant the Bossman.” Murdock’s eyes are as sharp and clear as BA has even seen them, despite the emotion of the morning. “This is gonna tear him apart.”

He has to agree. After sleeping on it, BA can admit that a large part of his anger last night was directed at how their Lieutenant could even consider abandoning their Colonel, let alone consider leaving their whole team. But talking to Face this morning, hearing one his two best friends struggling to explain just how empty he had been feeling, how it wasn’t about the team but about his own need for something more… His own heart aches for Face, but now BA worries for Murdock and Hannibal as well. If Face really does leave, Murdock might lose his shaky grasp on reality, though he’d held himself together so well while the three of them talked. And Hannibal…

“They been together so long, man.” Over twenty years, he knows. BA still remembers that steely glint in Hannibal’s eyes the first time he’d ever met the man, when a silver-haired stranger in the middle of nowhere shot him in the arm in order to rescue his friend. To rescue Face. “Can’t imagine one without the other.”

BA doesn’t think the colonel and his lieutenant have been apart for longer than a week or so in all the years he’s known them. And, while there are some things a guy just doesn’t really want to think about his friends, he’d always wondered if there was maybe something more between Hannibal and Face. He’d caught enough longing looks thrown from one man to the other over the years, but, living as closely as they do, he’s fairly sure nothing has ever happened between them. Over the last few years, BA had been starting to wonder if he’s just been reading too much into a very close friendship.

“Face is gonna break Hannibal’s heart if he goes.” Murdock’s quiet observation brings BA’s head up and around, and he watches his friend tearing his donut slowly, carefully in half. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who had always wondered. “He really wants to have his home and his family with our fearless leader, but he knows Hannibal ain’t gonna stop doin’ what we do, so he won’t say nothin’.” 

He shakes his head a little. “When did you get so smart?” The crazy fool never ceases to amaze him, even after all their years of friendship. “And what makes you think Hannibal won’t drop everything to be with Face? Maybe this could be the wake-up call he needs – maybe he’ll finally say somethin’.”

Murdock smiles a sneaky little grin, the kind of grin that usually means he’s planning something, before stuffing half the donut straight into his mouth. As he chews slowly, icing smothered across his top lip, he tilts his head a little and waves his hand behind him. “Maybe he already is.” BA has to struggle to make out his friend’s words, wincing at the spray of crumbs. “He’s still in there, right?”

With a flash of realisation, BA notices the bedroom door is still closed. Hannibal is still in there with Face. Are the two of them finally having the conversation they really need to, before it’s too late? Can Hannibal really give Face a reason to stay with them? “Boss is gonna fix it, man,” he reassures himself as much as Murdock, reaching almost without thinking into the bag for another donut. “Ain’t no way on earth he’s gonna be able to let Face go.”

* * *

Lying there in the darkness, hearing the low murmur of his team talking about him outside the room, Face wishes he could just fall asleep but he can’t seem to switch his mind off. He can still smell Hannibal’s warm, distinctive musk on the sheets around him, on the pillow beneath his head, and it all just makes this moment even more bittersweet. He’s made his decision at last, made two huge decisions actually, and his heart feels like it’s finally settling into a normal rhythm once more, even as his brain is buzzing with possibilities.

But he isn’t alone for long. The door opens and someone – Hannibal, he knows – slips into the room before closing it quietly behind them. He keeps his eyes closed, anticipating the sudden glare of the room’s single bare light bulb being turned on, but instead there are soft footsteps making their way to the opposite side of the bed where he lies, before the mattress dips slightly. Hannibal still doesn’t speak, just sitting there quietly, and Face lets his thoughts drift.

Having explained everything to Hannibal last night, then having the time to wander in the rain and just think again about what he really wants, Face knows he’d almost made his decision even before talking to his friends this morning. With his emotions more or less under control, BA and Murdock had been more willing to listen in the light of day, and their support and understanding made it easier to go through everything yet again, to bare his soul to them. They’ve made everything simpler, and now there is just Hannibal. There is always Hannibal.

Face knows what he has to say, knows that both his decisions will change everything between them, but he doesn’t know where to start. There can’t be any going back after this. But as always, the older man seems to know him far too well. Hannibal knew to come in, and he knows to wait, and so Face has to find the courage to speak out into the silence of the bedroom. 

The darkness helps, and he can almost pretend he is only talking to himself. “I’m not asleep.”

“I know.” Hannibal’s voice is soft and warm, and in the darkness Face can almost feel those piercing eyes searching for his own, finding him. “Do you mind if I - ?”

Unable to see the other man’s face, it takes him a moment to realise what the colonel is asking. “Of course not. Please.” The creak of dodgy springs, then he feels Hannibal stretch out next to him on the bed, both of them on their backs, Face under the blankets and Hannibal on top.

“Kid – Sorry, Temp…” Hannibal starts, then stutters to a stop, and with a flush of shame Face remembers his little moment of frustration last night.

“It’s okay, Boss.” He turns his head a little, looking where he thinks the other man’s head must be. And he knows where to start now. “I’m okay with being your kid. I always have been, and I always will be.”

A heavy pause before Hannibal speaks again. “You’re going, aren’t you?”

Tears fill his eyes, wondering what might have been, if only this incredible man saw him as more than just his kid. He psyches himself up, determined to complete his task. “Yes,” he manages to say, clearing his throat a little. “I think I have to. It’s time.” 

* * *

Somehow, hearing those words from Face’s lips, Hannibal isn’t shocked or surprised, though his chest suddenly feels tight. All his grand plans of telling his boy how he feels, they all fall away from him. Too late. He’s left everything too late, and now all he can do is support his boy though it all. All he can do is let him go.

“When?” he asks, almost dreading the answer, blinking fast into the dark of the room.

“Soon,” Face whispers back. “I think… I should go soon. I won’t drag it out, that wouldn’t be fair to you. To any of you.”

“Where will you go?” LA, he thinks, or maybe somewhere else sunny. His beautiful boy worships the sun, or, more accurately, the sun worships him. That toned, perfect body is always golden brown, even in the depths of winter.

So the answer, when it comes, surprises him. “I thought, maybe New York. Big city, easy enough to make a new start. Possibilities.” And yes, that makes sense as well. Somewhere far from everything Face knows, a fresh start. No reason for the MPs to hunt him there.

This isn’t the time for details or reasons, though. Right here, right now, this is the time for him and Face, and just as Hannibal thinks that, he feels his lieutenant turn over carefully in the bed, probably still nursing his arm, the springs creaking a little. He wishes the room were a fraction lighter, so he could see those incredible blue eyes one more time, but maybe the darkness makes him a little bolder, braver than he thought he could be. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too, more than anything.” A gentle hand lands on his chest, unexpected, and Hannibal gasps a little as long fingers spread over his shirt. “Hannibal… John, I’ve never told you…”

“Temp?” Reaching up, Hannibal captures his boy’s roving hand and holds it tightly as he rolls over himself until they are face to face in the darkness, so close he can feel the younger man’s breath against his neck. “What…?”

“No, let me talk. Please.” Face’s fingers close tightly around his own, the pressure almost painful. “I’m not asking for anything from you. I know I’m your boy, your ‘kid’, and that used to be enough. I don’t know if I’m ruining everything by saying this, but if I’m leaving anyway and if anything happens and I never told you…”

The younger man’s words are running into each other, his breathing too fast, little gasps in the blackness. “Breathe, kid. Just breathe,” Hannibal soothes, though his own breath is tight in his chest. What is Face trying to tell him? Is there another level to all of this, something he’s been missing all this time? “Take a deep breath and just say it, whatever you need to tell me. There is nothing you can say that will drive me away, I promise.”

“John…” Face’s voice is so very soft now, and the colonel almost holds his own breath, leaning forward until he knows they can only be inches apart. The whole world seems to pause around them – is there any world at all apart from the two of them here, together? – and the younger man whispers again, “John…”

* * *

Face swallows heavily, wishing he could just spit the words out. Maybe he isn’t as brave as he thought he was, maybe this was a ridiculous idea after all. But he promised himself, as soon as he knew he was leaving, he decided he would tell Hannibal, even if it means losing the older man’s support and love forever. He owes Hannibal the complete truth, after everything they’ve been through. He has nothing left to lose. Another good reason for leaving sooner rather than later. 

Hannibal’s fingers squeeze his own, pressing their joined hands against that firm chest, and it gives Face the final push he needs. Closing his eyes, no matter how pointless that is in the darkness, he takes a deep breath and just says the words he’s always wanted to say.

“I love you.” Silence. Though Hannibal tenses, he doesn’t pull away, so Face dares to continue, quietly, carefully. “I’m in love with you, and I have been for years. And I know you don’t feel the same way, I know - ”

“Temp, let me - ”

“No, no, let me finish. Please.” He can’t bear to hear Hannibal’s response, really doesn’t think he could take it if the older man pushes him away before he can explain. “I know you don’t feel the same, I know you don’t want the same things I want, and above all I know you can’t love me the way I love you. But I had to tell you, before I go.”

This time when he pauses, Hannibal stays blessedly silent, still motionless, and Face carefully closes the distance between them, those final few inches, resting his forehead on that strong, broad chest. Inhaling the comforting scent of tobacco, he continues, “Maybe this is just me being selfish again, telling you, and maybe I’ve ruined everything…”

“You’ve ruined nothing, kid.” Hannibal carefully disengages their hands, and for one horrible moment Face thinks that this is it, this is where his colonel finally leaves him. He knew this was a possibility. He knows the older man is no homophobe – he’s seen Hannibal go to bat for enough struggling young men over the years, DADT be damned, to know that beyond any doubt – but he also knows that he’s hid his own feelings well for so very many years. This has to be a shock, whatever Hannibal’s feelings on being gay, straight, bi, or whatever other label people want to put on love. But instead, Face feels a heavy, warm arm reach around to his back, pulling him closer still until their bodies are flush together, only the blankets and their thin shirts between them. “Oh, my boy. If I’d known…”

“You don’t have to say anything, Boss,” he murmurs, heart a little lighter now, and finally his eyelids feel heavy. Hannibal isn’t leaving him; there is no hatred or anger in that deep voice. Held tight and safe in Hannibal’s arms, where he’s always longed to be, sleep is finally within reach. “Just needed to tell you. I’m not asking you for anything more than you’ve always given me. I’ve been honoured to be your lieutenant and your friend.”

“Face… Temp…” There is a tremor in Hannibal’s voice, an emotion he can’t quite put his finger on, and yet again Face is so very glad of the darkness. “The honour has always been mine, and if you’ll let me - ”

“Just hold me, John,” he breathes, revelling in the feeling of security as Hannibal does just that, those strong arms tightening around him as his exhausted mind finally gives in to the demands of his body, and he falls into the deeper darkness of sleep.

* * *

If Face saying he was going away hadn’t leave Hannibal in shock, then hearing the kid declare his love before falling soundly asleep in his arms most certainly did. For several long minutes, the colonel just lies there, holding Face close, listening to the soft, regular breathing that indicates a body at peace, feeling tight, tense muscles relax into his firm grasp. Lying there, he wonders if he is the one really asleep, if this whole unbelievable conversation has been nothing but a dream.

How could he not have seen this coming? All these years wanting the boy – no, wanting the man the boy grew up to become – and he never saw this coming. Never even suspected that Face’s interests might lie in his direction, not as anything more than the closest of friends.

Did Hannibal just stop looking? After spending his first few years with Face getting him out of romantic scrapes, then after picking up the shattered pieces when Sosa stomped all over his boy’s heart, did he just stop looking for signs? Did he just settle for friends when he should have pushed for more? 

Carefully, he frees one arm and slides it up and around Face’s head, cradling him even closer. His heart is singing at finally being able to hold this wonderful man in his arms this way – has Face tormented himself, all these shared nights, just like Hannibal has? No more, he promises himself with a smile, and mentally promises his exhausted, drained Lieutenant the same. No more lonely nights, for either of them.

But then it hits him again, that punch in the guts. Face is leaving. Face has only told him this because he is going away, because he doesn’t think Hannibal feels the same way. The kid thinks he has nothing left to lose, and suddenly Hannibal faces a new dilemma. Can he give Face what he wants? What he needs?

“I want a family, Boss, I want a home,” the younger man had said the night before. “I want the chance to own more than just my dog tags and the shirt on my back. Hell, this is actually Bosco’s shirt, so I don’t even have that right now.”

Hannibal has never wanted that. Not ever. He’s Army through and through – he’d always expected them to drag him out kicking and screaming when they eventually forced his retirement, or, more likely, to carry him out in a coffin draped in stars and stripes. He’d always hoped his last plan would be a good one.

Even now, living the way they do, on the run, this is still the life he would chose, over the life Face seems to want. They are making a difference, however small, changing the world for the better. The bad guys get their comeuppance, and in six years none of his team have been killed or captured.

When Hannibal had come into the bedroom, he’d been determined to tell Face how he felt, never expecting the younger man to be feeling the same. He shakes his head a little in amazement, feeling soft curls brush his chin as his boy stirs ever so slightly. Both of them so determined not to hurt the other, not wanting to risk their friendship, so convinced they were the only one who felt this way. Worried they were being selfish – and isn’t that just so very typical of his boy, worrying about everyone else and putting his own needs last?

That is why this whole thing is so much of a shock. This time, Face has spoken up for himself, saying “I can’t do this anymore.” This time, Face has admitted what he needs, and it isn’t life on the run with his two best friends and a silver-haired colonel – oh, who is he trying to kid, it’s all grey now. But if Hannibal tells him now that he is loved in return, he suspects Face will drop all his plans and dreams and stay by his side. As much as he might want that, is that fair to the boy, after everything they’ve been through to get here?

Murdock’s words ring in his head now: “I just want him to be happy.” As much as Hannibal longs to kiss his boy awake, tell him just how much he is loved, and beg him to stay by his side for ever, maybe the kindest thing to do would be to let Face go. To give him the chance he needs to make that fresh start and find the stability he wants so badly. The stability Hannibal knows he can’t give to him. He can’t be what Face needs – he can love the man, he loves him so very much, but can he make him happy? Face deserves to be happy, more than any of them.

He could try, he knows. They could set up home together, and they could buy furniture, get jobs. Get a dog, maybe, talk about kids. But he’s too old to lie to himself, Hannibal realises with a sharp pang in his chest – he doesn’t want all that, and forcing himself to try is as wrong as forcing Face to stay. Either way, they would only make each other miserable.

Face stirs again in his sleep, long fingers curling into Hannibal’s shirt, tightening slightly, and the colonel gives in to the urge to press a kiss into those tempting curls. “I love you too, Templeton,” he whispers into the dark, and thinks that this is the only time he will let himself say it out loud. Face has put himself through agonies choosing to leave his team, then choosing to speak of his feelings, and now Hannibal must swallow his own agony in silence.

He couldn’t make the decision for his boy before, whether Face should stay or go. But this decision is his to make, to love Face and let him go, even if it breaks his own heart.

Closing his eyes, giving in to the need to hold Face close while he still can, Hannibal feels exhaustion sweep over his old body and knows he’ll soon be joining his boy in sleep. He’s making the right decision, he thinks again. The only decision, right?

* * *

Slowing his run to a jog, carefully bringing his breathing back under control, Face turns the final corner into his street, crossing over the road in order to avoid the Robinson family as they reverse out of their driveway. Clara, their sweet nine year old daughter, waves wildly at him out of the window, and he waves back, blowing her a little kiss as he passes by, gradually slowing to a walk, feeling that good kind of burn in his thighs and really looking forward to a hot shower.

“Hey, Tim!”

The unexpected voice makes Face look round for a moment, startled, before he spots his elderly neighbour up ahead, walking his dog. “Hi, Mr Douglas.” Still breathing hard, he stops by their shared fence and starts to stretch out his legs as the old man reaches him, Chocolate Labrador straining his leash to get to him. “Hey, Billy. Good walk?”

If anything had convinced him that this was the right house on the right street, it was this. Every time Billy came bounding over to him, all he wanted was to call Murdock. He couldn’t, but at least this was almost as good as having part of the team with him.

Even after six months, he still expects to see them walk around the corner, or to see BA’s latest beloved van pull up outside his little house. He knows why they have to stay away, of course – they talked about this, those last few days together before Hannibal drove him to the airport, before that final, all-too-brief embrace – this way gives him the best chance possible to make it by himself, but of course he misses them. It still feels like part of him is missing, like maybe he left one arm with them back in Ohio. Or wherever they are now.

“He’s good, thanks, Tim.” Mr Douglas pulls him back to reality, and Face stops his stretches to kneel down and pat the panting dog. “Too much energy for me, though!”

“If you ever want me to take him out for a run, just let me know,” he offers immediately, as Billy tries to lick his face. The last thing his neighbour needs is to get pulled over on the icy roads by his over-enthusiastic dog, and Face really wouldn’t mind. He’d thought of getting a dog himself, but things had changed once he moved in.

The old man nods, smiling. “I might just take you up on that some time, thanks!” He tugs the dog away from Face, turning towards his own house and tugging his coat closer. “Go on now, get inside and get warm, kid.”

Watching his neighbour walk off, the dog bouncing around his feet, Face feels that familiar pang each time he hears that nickname. Kid. Always, he expects it to be Hannibal’s voice, to feel a warm, heavy hand land on his shoulder or ruffle his hair. Instead, it’s a sweet old man whose lawn he mows and whose shopping he does when the weather gets bad. 

Shaking himself, quickly finishing up his stretches, he heads up his own path to the rundown two bed house he’s calling home. New York had been a great starting point for him, letting him get a full set of fake ID, right down to a credit history and bank details – of course, he’d put his own special touches to each document – but Face had soon moved out to the suburbs, searching for a more cosy, friendly neighbourhood. This was perfect, and although he didn’t own his own home – not even he could pull off the paperwork for that con – he had a sympathetic landlord who had let him negotiate a discounted rent in exchange for doing up the building. As long as it got better rather than worse, he could do what he wanted.

Letting himself in, dropping his key in the dish, he smiles as he hears a thud from the other room. This would be the reason he hadn’t got a dog, and there he is, the fattest cat Face has ever seen, inherited from the previous tenant. “Hey, buddy!” The cat winds around his legs as he toes off his trainers, determined to trip him up as he heads through to the kitchen. “You hungry, huh, Jasper?” A loud meow is the answer as he quickly pours cat food into the dish, followed by loud purring as his housemate tucks in contentedly, and Face is free to make his getaway to the bathroom.

The heat of the shower soon has him practically purring as well, and he leans his head fully under the spray, letting it run down his back, wet hair falling into his eyes. He’s let his hair grow out a little, not deliberately a disguise, and coupled with his new reading glasses – that explained the headaches he’d been getting before leaving his friends, and won’t they just tease him about those when they find out – he feels like a new man. Almost. 

Except for thoughts of his team. Every day, something happens that makes him think of them, those three men who have been family and friends to him for so long. There will be something strange or odd that he knows Murdock would get a kick out of, or he’ll spot a new car that BA would drool over. And all the little things he used to tell Hannibal, just little everyday things that are completely unimportant, and at the same time the most important things in the world. 

They stay in contact, infrequently of course, but he hasn’t seen them since he left. After that one long, difficult day when he had confessed everything to them, confessed his love to Hannibal in the darkness of a motel room. They hadn’t tried to talk him out of his decision, though each of them took him to one side and told him they didn’t want him to go, that they would miss him. When he had woken that day, cradled securely in Hannibal’s arms, his colonel asleep wrapped around his body, he had dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, the older man had felt the same way. He had lain there so very still, hardly daring to breath, terrified to wake his sleeping beauty and find out the truth.

But of course, Hannibal had said nothing of the sort, though Face had been moved almost to tears by the way his colonel had held him tightly when he did eventually awake. “If you think you have to go, then go,” Hannibal had whispered in the darkness. “But you come back to me whenever you want, kid. If it doesn’t work out, if you get lonely, if things go wrong, anything, anytime. You’ll always be my boy.”

It takes Face a while to realise he’s been stroking himself, thinking of Hannibal, the way those strong hands had held him so carefully in that bed. He knows he should stop, or think of something else – he’s meant to be moving on, finding new love, a new family, but it isn’t so easy to let go of the love he’s carried for the tall Colonel for most of his adult life. Taking a firmer hold of his half-hard penis, he closes his eyes and just gives in. “John…” he breathes, stroking slowly up and down, imaging Hannibal’s long lean body close behind him, Hannibal’s strong calloused hand caressing him.

He doesn’t miss being on the run, though of course he has to be careful, always half-looking over his shoulder, ducking away from CCTV cameras instinctively. He doesn’t really miss their ‘jobs’ or ‘missions’, not really, though he certainly doesn’t get the same adrenaline kick from his current nine to five job, and knows he’ll have to find something else to do for work sooner rather than later. He’s making a home here, turning this shabby little house into somewhere he can settle for a while – he bought a new sofa the other day, and knows from the salesman’s face that maybe he’d been a little too excited – but so far, love and family and proving harder to find.

Bucking into his own fist faster now, bracing one hand against the shower wall, he feels his breathing pick up speed, imagining how it would feel if it were Hannibal in here with him in his little bathroom. Remembering those last couple of days with his team, as they all made plans, Face sharing the last of his scams with them, passing on some contacts, splitting up what little money they had. Hannibal had often looked like he longed to say something, those piercing blue-grey eyes almost drilling into his own from across the room.

It’s the thought of those incredible eyes that sends Face over the edge, and he shouts his release into the tiles as he collapses forwards, spilling all over his hand and the wall. But the flush of orgasm fades almost immediately, and he reaches to hit the shower off in anger, mad at himself for giving in, and mad at Hannibal for not wanting him.

Sex hasn’t been a problem; he’d never expected it would be. A few times, when he’s been desperate enough or lonely enough, he’s gone to a bar and used his charm to find a warm body for the night, more often than not an older man. He hates himself a little for that. But he’s trying to find something more, a relationship that will live up to the dream he had of him and Hannibal together, and he knows that will take time and effort.

Mrs Nicholson down the street had set him up with her newly divorced daughter, and that had been good for a while until he figured out she was just after sex, still too hung-up on her ex-husband despite the fact that the bastard hit her and their five year old son. It had taken everything Face had left in him not to track him down and beat him to a pulp – the guy was already behind bars, and an assault charge would probably blow the cover he’s been working so carefully to build.

Jack had been good as well, for a time. They’d met while Face had been jogging, falling into step and discovering a shared sense of humour and love for designer clothing when Jack had made a bitchy comment about a fellow jogger’s fluorescent pink tracksuit. But after a few weeks they’d both admitted there wasn’t really any strong attraction, and they’d settled for friends instead. Jack had repeatedly offered to set Face up with some of his friends, but so far he’d declined, throwing himself into work and volunteering and just living a normal life for a while. 

And it was good, for the most part. If it wasn’t for the ache in his heart every time he thought of his friends, of Hannibal, it would be almost perfect. Stepping out of the bathroom, towel around his hips, he checks the Phone before getting dressed, pausing only to make a fuss of Jasper who is draped across his bed now and purring happily. The Phone is never far from his side, this Phone only the team have the number for, a corresponding Phone in Hannibal’s hands. For emergencies only, never used yet in over six months.

Checking the screen now, he’s relieved to see it still blank. No missed calls, no messages. On a daily basis, he has to force himself not to check it every five minutes. They keep in contact in other ways, emails mostly, calls from payphones less frequently. It’s never enough. He spoke to BA two weeks ago, on the big guy’s birthday, and he gets strange letters and postcards from time to time, never signed but obviously from Murdock. He misses Hannibal so much it physically hurts sometimes.

Face puts a bowl of beef stew into the microwave to heat up, the last of another food parcel from the two Miss Coopers, elderly sisters who live opposite him and have practically adopted him, apparently thinking a single man in his forties must be incapable of cooking for himself. Grabbing his glasses and the newspaper, he flicks on the TV and settles on his wonderful new sofa, finding a news channel. Every day he dreads hearing news that the A Team have been captured, or worse, killed. 

Without him, he worries how well they are doing, three men together where there were always four. Hannibal knows all the team’s emergency cash stashes, knows most of Face’s well-used scams, and is a perfectly capable con artist in his own right. BA had taken Face aside and asked to go through all of Murdock’s meds with him, wanting to be sure he understood the best scams to use and the safest places to get them. And Face knows his best friend had helped him with enough cons over the years, had always been his willing partner in crime – between the three of them, they’ll manage. They have to be managing, right?

But if they are ever captured, if they need him, if something happens, there’s no force on earth that will stop him getting to their side. The thought of Hannibal in chains or, worse, in a coffin…

Deep down, he thinks it can only be a matter of time before something does go wrong. Away from the risks they took together on a daily basis, he can admit that now. The team can only do what they do for so long – age has to catch up with them all at some point, probably with Hannibal first. Maybe someday, the colonel will realise that, maybe say ‘enough is enough’, but Face can’t force him. Hannibal will have to come to that conclusion himself, as Face did, hopefully not when one of them gets killed. His only real regret leaving the team, apart from not being able to set up home with the man he loves by his side, is that he isn’t there to protect them anymore. 

If something happens, if he isn’t at Hannibal’s side when something goes wrong, he’ll never forgive himself. And again, he wonders if he shouldn’t have stayed. But no, he’s made his decision, torn his team apart, and he has to give this a chance. It’s all working so far, for the most part, he tells himself again. It’ll work out. It has to work out.

Jasper chooses that moment to leap into his lap, and Face tries to forget his worries by watching the news and fussing over the purring ball of fur sitting on his paper. He’s got a shift at the youth centre later, and he promised some of the older kids he’d supervise a basketball game, so he tries to relax while he can, closing his eyes for a few moments until the ringing of a phone startles him awake.

He lunges for the phone, Jasper landing on the floor with an annoyed yowl, wondering who could be calling at this time. “Hello, Timothy Grant speaking,” he says into the handset, wondering why the ringing hasn’t stopped.

It takes him a moment to realise it isn’t his landline, and another few seconds to realise it isn’t his mobile either, and his heart lurches in his chest. It’s the Phone. Something has happened.

* * *

“We have to call him!” Where the heck had Hannibal put the emergency supplies? Emergency supplies are supposed to be easy to find in an emergency, surely? Murdock searches desperately through the back of the van, looking for the bright red box that holds all their most important stuff, including the emergency phone. It has to be there somewhere, where is it hiding?

“Hannibal said no, man,” BA calls back over his shoulder, his attention clearly focussed on driving as fast as he dares away from the latest job-gone-wrong. “He ordered us not to, Murdock.”

“Well, he ain’t exactly in a condition to enforce that order right now, is he?” Grabbing at the door handle, he tries to steady himself as the van jolts and jerks over the rough terrain. He doesn’t want to look down at where the colonel lies, buried beneath as many blankets and coats as they had between them. “By my reckonin’, that leaves me in charge.”

Finally, gloriously, Murdock spots the box tucked behind the first aid kit in the back corner, and yanks it free with a triumphant yelp. He chooses to ignore BA’s grumbling as he rummages through the box, the big guy going on about, “Be a cold day in hell before I take orders from you, Crazy.”

He knows it’s just his friend’s way of dealing with all this, the stress and the worry and the chaos and the mess this simple job turned into. He knows BA would take a direct order from him, has done so many times in the past, but Murdock really doesn’t want to turn this into an order. The team is split apart already, and he doesn’t want to do this if his friend isn’t on board, though this is the only way he can see that it’ll all work. Finding the little phone, flipping it open, he lunges towards the front seats and drapes himself across the passenger side, waving it in BA’s face.

“Come on, we gotta call him. We’re, what, forty five minutes away?” He waits until BA give a grudging nod before continuing, trying to put some authority into his voice and push away the fear. “We have to get the boss somewhere warm, somewhere safe. Motel ain’t gonna do. We have to call him.”

“Damn!” Murdock jumps a little when BA pounds the steering wheel with one tightly clenched fist, before the big guy growls, “Okay, man. Call him. I’m already headin’ in that direction.”

He pats his friend briefly on the shoulder before dropping back to the floor beside Hannibal and his mountain of blankets. Slipping two fingers onto the older man’s cold neck, he lets the slow, steady thump of Hannibal’s heart calm him as he hits the call button. “Hang in there, Bossman,” he murmurs, raising the phone to his ear and listening to the ring.

It rings and rings and rings, and for one horrible moment Murdock worries that Face doesn’t have it with him, or maybe something terrible has happened to him without the team finding out. Even after all these months, it still feels so very strange that his best friend isn’t right there with them, that Face is out there somewhere in the ‘real’ world trying to build himself a new life away from them all, away from Hannibal.

He still can’t believe their colonel had let Face just leave like he had. It had taken a long time for Murdock to get over his anger at Hannibal for letting his friend walk away, though deep down he really did just want Face to be happy, wanted to let him have a chance to find whatever he was looking for, since Hannibal for some reason wouldn’t just confess his love. Murdock had always known Hannibal was sweet on his lieutenant – to him, it had been blindingly obvious from the first moment he saw the two men together – though it had taken him a little longer to see through all of Face’s masks and realise his friend was completely head-over-heels in love with the boss too.

“You’re both as stubborn as each other,” he comments softly to Hannibal’s unconscious form, as the phone continues to ring. What the heck was taking Face so long to answer?

Then, just as he’s about to cut it off and hit redial, a familiar and much-missed voice finally answers. “I’m here, I’m here. What happened?”

“Facey! Oh, thank goodness!” Murdock squeezes his eyes shut and lets his head thud back against the side of the van, one hand still resting on Hannibal’s neck. “You okay?”

“I should be asking you that.” Face sounds worried, no, terrified, the conman making no effort at all to sound his normal calm and confident self. “It’s so good to hear your voice, buddy, but why are you calling on this phone? What’s going on?”

“Had to get hold of you, had to be sure.” He tries to gather his racing thoughts together, knows he’s failing. “Had to find you, Face, we had to call, we have to - ”

“Murdock!” BA’s bark snaps him back into focus, and he lifts his head again. “Get it together, man!”

He lifts the phone away a moment, calling to the driver, “Sorry!” Then, into the phone again, “Sorry, Face. We’re comin’ to see you; Hannibal’s in a bit of a state and we need - ”

“Hannibal? He’s hurt?” Oh, god, Murdock wishes he didn’t have to be the one to put that note of panic into Face’s voice. He can imagine all too well the feeling of hopelessness at being so far away, so unable to help.

Trying to sound a little calmer again, knowing panic won’t help any of them, least of all Hannibal, he reassures his friend as best he can. “Not badly hurt, I think. But he’s a little hypothermic; we need to get him somewhere warm and get him cleaned up. We’re not far from you so I thought…”

“What happened? Murdock, holy shit, what the hell…?” On the other end of the line, Face audibly takes a huge breath, and Murdock can almost tell the exact moment the conman pulls himself together. “Are you and BA alright?”

“Yes, we’re fine. Look, I can’t talk long.”

“I know, I know. You know where I am? How far out are you?” Face sounds in control now, the Lieutenant taking over rather than the friend, and that helps Murdock keep himself in control as well. 

“Three quarters of an hour, maybe, though faster if Bosco puts his foot down. And I got a map – we weren’t all that far at all.”

“You weren’t even gonna call – No, forget that, not important right now.” Damn, Murdock just knew this was going to cause problems, as soon as Hannibal had agreed to take the job up here, so close to where Face had settled. The colonel had insisted they not let their former team-mate know they were in the area, determined not to risk everything Face had been trying so hard to build for himself.

Each time Murdock had spoken to Face, far fewer times than he would have liked – though, to be fair, even once a day wouldn’t have been enough for him – his best friend had assured him he was well, that things were really going okay for him. But Murdock knew Face far too well to be conned by the conman. Face was lonely, even if he wouldn’t admit that even to himself. And the way he always asked about Hannibal without ever really asking… Yeah, not doing so well with the whole ‘getting over the love of your life’ thing.

“We’ll explain,” he tries. “I’ll explain, I promise. And you can beat the boss to a pulp if you like, just as soon as he’s back on his feet.” That at least gets a strangled almost-laugh out of Face, and then everything starts moving in a blur.

BA drives the van faster than is probably legal, while Murdock keeps a constant check on Hannibal beneath his blankets, focussing on Face’s calm, focussed instructions – orders really, the team’s XO taking charge even from a distance. That steady voice keeps him grounded, keeps him from floating off into panic. If he’s honest with himself, he’s been hovering on the edge of an episode, or breakdown, or something ever since Face had left – since Hannibal had stupidly let him leave – and the whole world had tilted on its axis.

Country roads turn into suburbs, and sooner than Murdock would have thought possible, BA is slowing the van to a stop, voice rough with worry as he announces, “We’re here, man.” Looking up at last, away from Hannibal’s pale, dirty face, Murdock glances out of the side window to see a small, slightly run-down house with a tiny front yard. It isn’t all that impressive, though he’s certainly seen worse, but immediately he spots the most wonderful thing in the world, standing on the porch.

“Facey!” Dropping the phone, Murdock lurches forwards to open the side door, but then almost chokes when BA catches his collar and hauls him backwards. “What the - ?” he splutters, trying to twist out of that iron grasp. Face is out there! 

“Play it cool, you crazy idiot!!” With one final shake, BA lets him loose, pinning him with a stare which keeps him in place just as well as the previous hold. “He’s got neighbours, friends, all gonna be nosy as hell. Don’t go nuts out there, you hear me?”

Well, okay, so that makes a little bit of sense. Murdock takes one huge breath, letting it out slowly, then another, until the hammering in his head slows to a more manageable pounding. Calmly, carefully, he slides open the door, forcing himself to walk-not-run up the narrow path to where his best friend in the whole world is standing, waiting.

Face looks good. No, Face doesn’t look good, he looks amazing, all tall lean body, slightly too-long hair, a pair of thin glasses balanced on his nose, framing those bright blue eyes. Murdock resists the urge to just grab at his buddy, to wrap his arms around those broad shoulders tightly and never let him go again. Instead, he reaches out to accept the offered handshake with a smile despite the situation, squeezing as tightly as he can manage and feeling the other man’s strength in return. “Good to see you,” he says quietly, momentarily forgetting Face’s new name, not wanting to get it wrong, not wanting to mess this up. Neighbours, right, there might be people watching them. Almost certainly, in a little teeny-tiny street like this.

“You too.” Face smiles too, but it’s only a shadow of his standard megawatt grin, and the other man casts a nervous glance to either side of him before turning worriedly to the van. There will be time for hugs and gossiping later – right now, Murdock knows they have to get the Boss taken care of. Face must be out of his mind with worry. He knows it’s been some weeks since Hannibal and Face spoke, knows just how grouchy Hannibal has been. Can’t even imagine how poor Face has felt, and now for them to just show up with the older man hurt…

They’ve done this before, sadly, too many times over the last six years. There is a fine art involved to getting an unconscious team-member into a safe house or motel without raising any alarms and, once BA climbs down from the driver’s seat and nods briefly at Face – Murdock can read all the powerful emotions contained in that simple gesture – the three of them swing straight into action, falling into well-rehearsed routines just as if they’ve never been apart.

None of this feels real, and before Murdock really knows what’s happening they are inside, Face leading the way straight back through his house to a tiny bathroom. They’ve done the whole hypothermia routine before too, sadly, and Face has already run a hot bath, the small room filled with steam, a pile of towels ready and waiting. BA pushes straight past Murdock into the bathroom, Hannibal’s blanket-clad body limp in his strong arms, but Face stops the pilot when he tries to squeeze in as well.

“Buddy, there are hot water bottles waiting in the kitchen, and the kettle should be boiled by now.” Face steps into the corridor with him for a moment and pulls him into a tight hug, and Murdock just wraps his own arms tightly around his friend. He’s missed this so much – Face just anchors him in a way BA and Hannibal can’t manage, and he breathes deep. Face still smells just like Face, and the whole wonky world settles a little straighter. “You’re okay, and he’ll be okay,” Face whispers in his ear. “You can tell me everything in a little while. You did so good, Murdock. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

“Okay,” he whispers back, then forces himself to let go and step away so Face can help Bosco with their colonel.

Hot water bottles dealt with, bed all turned down and ready, Murdock finds himself standing alone in the middle of his best friend’s living room, just staring at the sofa. It’s a nice sofa. It’s been nearly twenty four hours since he slept last, and he can feel the jittering of exhaustion in his body and brain, but no sleep, not yet, not until Hannibal is okay, until he can talk to Face. Until Murdock can make the two stubborn idiots see that this doesn’t work, the four of them apart, Hannibal and Face apart. 

Hannibal has been through hell the last six months, working hard to convince both Murdock and BA that he is just fine, trying to keep things as normal as he can, but the colonel has struggled without Face. Something changed in Hannibal the morning Face had decided to leave – Murdock can’t help but wonder exactly what the two men had talked about behind the closed door of their motel room, but it clearly wasn’t the mutual declarations of love he’d hoped it would be. Face had gone, and the three of them had carried on as best they could, but it hasn’t been the same at all. Without Face, there was a hole in the team. Without Face, Hannibal had lost a lot of his jazz. Something like this was bound to happen sooner or later.

Shaking himself, he decides he has to do something. Snooping, he decides with a nod. He can do some snooping, see what kind of fun things Face has in his new home. Then, once Hannibal is doing better, he can smack their two heads together and get this whole mess sorted out once and for all. Pulling open a desk drawer, tipping the contents onto the floor, he gets started.

* * *

The first time Hannibal wakes up, he slowly becomes aware of warmth, blessed warmth all around him. Fine, smooth sheets and heavy blankets and soft pillows cradling his head. He’s warm at last, wonderfully warm, and that cold cage in a shed in a field seems far away.

He’s warm, and comfortable, and sleep is beckoning him back once again, but he struggles a little, trying to force his heavy arms to move, trying to get his eyes to open. Where the hell is he? Did his boys find him? BA, Murdock… they are all he has left since he let Face walk away from him. He has to know if his boys are here.

But… He’s so warm, and his body really doesn’t feel like it belongs to him. His eyes certainly won’t cooperate, but his ears tune in faintly to the sound of someone talking softly, quietly. The words really aren’t clear but the tone is comforting, so Hannibal thinks maybe everything really is okay.

A tender hand strokes gently across his forehead and up into his hair, soothing him, and within seconds he is asleep once more, lost in the warmth.

* * *

The second time Hannibal wakes up, there is something on him, in his face, a cold nose pressing into his cheek, soft fur tickling him. With a supreme effort he manages to turn his head a little on the pillow, and the something shifts on the bed with a curious little ‘meow’, which sounds ridiculously loud in the silence of wherever the hell he is.

The time, he manages to force his eyes open a crack, though it takes him a long, long time before he can focus on the ginger cat staring at him. Where did the cat come from?

As he thinks that, the cat turns its back on him and moves away a little, walking onto his chest and turning in circles a few times before settling there with a loud purring noise. It’s a heavy cat but, even though it might be a little harder to breathe now, it’s a warm and comforting weight which has Hannibal closing his eyes again, basking in the peace and the warmth.

The sound of footsteps breaks the peace, but Hannibal is far too comfortable to panic, the purring weight on his chest keeping him still. A familiar voice whispers, “There you are! You shouldn’t be in here.” Hannibal thinks muzzily, shouldn’t I? Maybe he should try and move after all, but he really is too tired, and then the weight is suddenly lifted off him with a disgruntled little yowl. “Ssh, Jasper, you’re gonna wake the Bossman. C’mon, let’s get you out of here.”

Murdock. It’s Murdock, and Hannibal tries to open his eyes again, or at least get his voice working, or something, anything. But all he can do is make a pitiful croaking noise.

It’s enough to get his man to his side, though, and a warm hand gently cups his cheek. “Easy there, Hannibal,” that wonderful southern voice murmurs. “You’re okay, we’re all safe here. You need to rest up some more. Just sleep.”

He wants to know more than that, really he does, and he quite wants the cat back too, but he can’t manage to articulate any of that. Everyone is safe at least, and all he can manage is a little sigh as he sinks further into the pillows, then he is asleep once more.

* * *

The next time he wakes, his eyes obey his command instantly and snap open. Only its dark now, very dark, but he’s still warm and snug beneath his heavy blankets, and it’s quiet and everything is still. Hannibal thinks this might just be a dream, that he’s probably still asleep really, but he’s surprisingly okay with that.

He half-remembers Murdock being with him earlier, and something about a cat – or did he dream the cat? He still feels pretty disconnected from everything really, especially from his body, though there isn’t any pain at least, which is a pleasant state to be in after the week he’s had. What he remembers of it at least.

Hazy as his mind still is, it takes him a long minute to realise that someone is in the bed with him, asleep in the darkness. The sound of soft, even breathing reaches his ears, and Hannibal manages to tilt his head just enough to see another head on the pillows next to him, the shape of another body beneath his blankets. And now he knows he has to be dreaming, or hallucinating maybe, because there is just enough light in the room to make out the familiar profile of his boy, his Face. Sleeping beauty in his bed once more.

These last months without Face have been harder than he could ever have expected. Not the day to day practicalities, not scamming a motel room or flirting with a mark or nagging the team about how much fast food they eat. Yes, Face did all of those things better than any of them can do, but they’ve managed. Barely.

No, Hannibal hasn’t missed what Face did for the team, though it’s true he never realised even half of what the kid actually did for them all. All the financial side of things has fallen to Hannibal now, and he still remembers the shock he had felt when Face sat down with him before he left and talked him through exactly where the team stood, how little cash there really was for emergencies. He’d known Face scammed a lot of their things, but he’d never asked just how much, never asked for the details. Why had he never asked?

He missed everything else about Face. Literally everything. His voice, his effortless grace in any situation. His sense of humour, his intelligence, his kind and generous heart. His bright blue eyes, and yes, Hannibal had missed his handsome face and sculptured body, but more than anything he had just missed the younger man’s sheer presence. Face had been by his side constantly for more than twenty years, and without him there Hannibal had just felt… off-balance.

Now, lying there in comfort and warmth, dreaming most likely, Hannibal somehow finds the strength to turn onto his side, closer to the presence he’s missed so much. Face lies in shadow, full lips slightly parted as he continues to sleep, breathing relaxed, not a care in the world on his handsome features.

He thought he was doing the right thing, letting Face leave him, letting the boy try to find himself a family and a home. Even knowing what Face had felt for him, Hannibal had convinced himself that it was all for the best. He’d kept his own feelings for the kid under wraps for so long, how much harder could it be to watch him walk away?

‘I’ve missed you, kid.’

Hannibal has to settle for just thinking it, voice still not quite working. In a dream, that shouldn’t matter, right? His dream-Face turns his own head a little then, towards where Hannibal is watching him sleepily. He should have kissed Face awake that morning, should have agreed to whatever the kid wanted, should never have let him leave.

When he’s better, when he wakes up, he’ll find out if Face is really happy, if he has found what he wants in his new life – if Face will even tell him the truth. For now, just before his eyes drift shut of their own accord, Hannibal finds the strength to lean forward and claim those tempting lips with his own in a soft, tender kiss.

Just a dream surely, but after a moment Hannibal finds he is being kissed back, those warm lips pressing into his, hot breath then soft tongue opening him up. What a dream – it would be just like this, kissing Face awake, but Hannibal is too exhausted now and his heavy head falls back into his pillows, a deeper darkness clawing him back down to a place without such sweet dreams.

* * *

This time, he is properly awake. Awake and alert, strong enough to lift his head a little and look at the room where he lies. It’s a fairly simple bedroom, a wardrobe and dressing table visible, dark dressing gown hanging on the back of the door, no personal effects, no photos. Hannibal is in a king-sized bed, mattress just the perfect firmness, soft sheets and warm blankets, but there are no clues as to where he is, or whose room this might be.

Right now, he seems to be alone, though he vaguely remembers hearing voices before, Murdock’s certainly, as well as a deep, comforting rumble that was almost certainly Bosco. But there had been someone else, maybe. A familiar voice and familiar presence, making him feel safe and secure.

Movement on the bed, and Hannibal looks down to see a ball of ginger fur. Not alone after all, he thinks, as the ball unfurls itself to reveal a huge, fat cat, sleeping comfortably. A memory stirs, a cat sniffing his face – maybe he hadn’t been dreaming after all.

And if that wasn’t a dream, then maybe –

“You’re awake, then?” Still staring at the cat, Hannibal is a little startled when he looks up to see BA entering the room, a tray in his hands and a smile on his face. “How you feelin’, Boss?”

“Fine.” Coughing a little to clear his throat, he’s surprised to find that’s actually true. He shifts to a sitting position, back resting against the headboard, accepting the tray BA rests on his lap. Juice, toast and coffee. Coffee first, and once he’s drained half the mug Hannibal offers his man a smile in return. “Really, I’m fine. A little stiff, like I’ve been lying down too long. But fine.”

“Hmm.” BA frowns at him, clearly not convinced, but moves away from the bed to sit on a chair Hannibal hadn’t noticed before. “Well, you’ve been in and out for two days, so that makes sense. You remember what happened?”

“Yeah, mostly. You got the kids out, right?” Twin boys being held hostage until their lawyer father agreed to drop a case. “But they got me – I don’t really know how…”

Suddenly ravenous, Hannibal starts to attack his toast and juice as BA nods, filling in some of the blanks for him. “They got the jump on us as we were headin’ out. Me ‘n the fool got the little ones out but they’d already got you in a car and gone. Took us a couple of days to track you. Sorry, Hannibal.” 

He doesn’t need the apology, never does. “Not your fault. You did good. A cage in a shed?” He’s pretty sure he’s remembering that right, but he looks to his corporal for clarification.

“Yeah, big cage like for a big dog.” BA leans forward, strong forearms resting on his knees, shaking his head slowly as he stares at the colonel. Hannibal can see a mix of anger and worry and guilt in the younger man’s eyes, and hates that he’s the cause. “We got you out, but you were in a bad way. Needed to get you somewhere warm and safe, fast.”

“Where are we?” Hannibal asks when BA pauses, noticing the cringe he tries to hide.

Remembers his dream. Oh god, they haven’t…

“Murdock’s decision, Hannibal, and I agreed.” BA sits up straighter, as if readying himself for a fight. “We were so close it would’ve been stupid not to.”

“BA, tell me - ”

“We called him. We called Face.” One big hand waves around the room as BA quickly adds, “This is his place. We’re safe here.”

“Face?” Hannibal lurches fully upright in the bed, juice spilling across the tray and splashing onto the blankets, the cat jumping down and away in disgust. “Where is he? Where -?”

“I’m here.” And there he is, standing in the shadows just outside the bedroom door, just as tall and handsome and wonderful as Hannibal could ever have dreamed. Face steps forward a little, into the light, and Hannibal feels every sore muscle in his body just melt at the sight of his boy, as if a huge weight has been lifted from his chest and he can breathe freely at last.

Face reaches up to run one hand through his hair, Hannibal smiling at the oh-so-familiar gesture, before his long fingers lift his glasses off – and when did he get those incredible glasses, Hannibal thinks, feeling the kick right in his libido at the sight. He watches as Face twirls the glasses in his hand, but before Hannibal can speak, before he can even open his mouth, Face speak up again. There is a note of iron in his voice, and Hannibal suddenly remembers his dream. Not a dream, he thinks with a sinking feeling.

“I think we need to talk.”

* * *

Face watches from the shadows, listening to BA and Hannibal talking, trying to pluck up the courage to enter the room. He knows this is ridiculous; it’s his house after all.

So Hannibal is awake. Properly awake at last, it seems, after two days of delirium and almost-alertness, two days of worry where Face has often wondered if they should just take the risk and get the boss to a hospital. But every time, just as he’d think that, Hannibal would wake enough to drink some water and swallow some pills, before drifting back off into a deep sleep, so they just let him rest.

Hannibal’s injuries really aren’t all that serious – just a few scratches and some bruises that had clearly been a few days old before the team had even reached safety – but from what BA and Murdock have told him, the older man has had a lucky escape after spending most of his days of captivity locked in a large cage in the middle of nowhere. Exposure. Hypothermia. Exhaustion. No wonder he slept so long.

Face just stands there and listens as BA explains a little of what happened. Hearing Hannibal’s voice again… Oh, Face hadn’t realised just how much he’d missed hearing that strong, commanding voice, and it’s making his knees a little weak, knowing the man he is still in love with is lying just on the other side of the door, in his bed.

They’d all taken turns to make sure Hannibal was never alone, shifts so someone could watch him at all times while watching for MPs too, so someone could soothe him back to sleep when he tossed and turned. The rest of the last two days has been amazing, Face having his two best friends back with him in his home. If it wasn’t for their delirious colonel, it would’ve been almost like old times.

Murdock had done a thorough job wrecking his living room and kitchen before they’d managed to get Hannibal settled that first night. Face had just stood there in horror, keen eyes noticing how objects seemed to have been carefully placed into sorted piles rather than randomly thrown around. Only a mind like Murdock’s knew why his toaster belonged in a pile with the red sofa cushion and his gas bill. And why the orange sofa cushion was all by itself in the corner with a note saying ‘do not touch’.

Face hadn’t had the heart to yell though, not seeing his best friend sat cross-legged in the middle of it all with Jasper draped across his lap, the cat purring happily. The look of terror in Murdock’s eyes had gradually faded as the days passed and Hannibal slowly got better, while Face was just so proud of him for having had the strength to call him in the first place.

More than anything, he just felt so very guilty for not having been there for his team when things had gone wrong. He’d known in his gut that something like this was going to happen sooner or later, that Hannibal would take on another simple job which would turn out to be anything but. BA, of course, had seen straight away what was going through his mind, and had sat down with him on the sofa while Murdock sat with Hannibal, one big hand wrapped tightly around his bicep.

“Wasn’t your fault, Faceman,” he’d said firmly. “Wasn’t no one’s fault. Boss been takin’ more risks lately, that’s all. Just glad you’re here.”

Face indeed was glad he’d been close. If this had happened far away, if he’d found out later, if Hannibal had died before the team could reach him… Well, in all honesty he thinks that might have killed him too.

And then last night threw his whole world out of whack. Whatever the hell that had been. Exactly how delirious had Hannibal been when he kissed him?

Hearing the older man raise his voice, hearing his own name called – and how wonderful was that, hearing ‘Face’ after months of being Timothy Grant? – Face grits his teeth and steps forward. This is going to be one hell of a conversation.

“I’m here.” Hannibal looks perfect, just perfect, even just sitting there in bed with a tray on his lap. He doesn’t look like he’s been so ill; a little tired maybe, in need of a shave certainly, but he looks like he’s always looked. Strong and handsome and perfect, not a day over fifty. Face reaches up to take off the glasses he’s forgotten he was still wearing, before adding, “I think we need to talk.”

Jasper shoots past his legs, clearly unhappy with having his sleep disturbed, then a moment later BA also slips out of the room, a quick squeeze of his shoulder in passing. “Face…” Hannibal breathes, a smile hovering on his lips. “Temp… It’s so good to see you, kid. Though I’m sorry it had to be like this. I told them not to call you - ”

“They made the right decision, Boss.” Shaking himself, Face crosses the room to sit in the chair BA had abandoned. What he really wants to do is curl up on the bed next to Hannibal, but he has to know what happened first. “I’m just glad I was close enough to help. You okay?”

“I’m okay, kid. Thanks.” Hannibal shifts a little in the bed, and Face suddenly remembers the juice spilled everywhere, moving quickly to lift away the tray and strip off the top blankets. 

Rummaging in the wardrobe he finds an old fleecy blanket and carefully drapes it over Hannibal’s lower body, eventually looking up to find those incredible pale blue eyes watching him intently. Ordinarily, he would never ask this so directly, but these last six months have been anything but ordinary. Or, rather, they would seem perfectly ordinary for anyone not used to living the lives they have always done.

Whatever you want to call it, he’s past playing games. He laid his cards on the table six months ago, telling his friends he wanted to try to find something more, telling Hannibal he loved him. And Hannibal had let him go – gave him all the support he could, but still let him walk away. And everything Face has done for the last six months has basically been about getting over him.

So now, with nothing left to lose, he just takes a breath and says it. “What was last night about?”

Exhausted himself, he’d finally given in to the urge to curl up with Hannibal, who had been sleeping a little more peacefully at last. He’d told himself it was all about sharing body heat, although it was long past the time where that would have done any good, and he’d certainly never meant to fall asleep. It had just felt so good to be in the same bed with all that strength once more. Something else he never realised just how much he had missed.

“Hmm?” Hannibal tries to look confused, pretending he doesn’t remember, but Face is having none of that.

“I know you remember. I can see the look of panic in your eyes.” And it is there, just a tiny hint, only obvious because Face knows this man far, far too well. “Don’t try and tell me it was just the fever.”

A long pause. Face carefully blanks his expression, not wanting to give anything away, determined not to be the one to speak next. Hannibal looks like he’s thinking fast, wondering how to explain perhaps, how much to give away himself. But Face is a conman, and you can’t con a conman. He thinks he knows what this is, but he hopes he’s wrong, because what could Hannibal’s reasons possibly be…

“Last night…” Hannibal starts then stops, leaning his head back against the wall. “I thought I was dreaming, that’s all. I didn’t know it was real, that you were really there.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s the truth, kid. I promise.” Hannibal does look genuine, but he also looks uncomfortable. Not the entire truth, then.

“Do you often dream of kissing me? Or was that a one-off?”

Those blue eyes lock with his and Hannibal takes a deep breath. Face unconsciously mimics the gesture, finding some semblance of calm for a second before the older man admits, “Not a one-off, Face. Far from it, in fact.”

Mind reeling, the room feels like it’s spinning around him. How is this possible, and what does it mean? “What are you saying?” he manages to gasp, still sitting perfectly still in his chair, even though his body longs to just lean over and kiss Hannibal again and again and again. He has to hear this through to the end. “How long have you felt…? What is this?”

“Kid, Temp, I never wanted you to find out like this.” Face can’t hold in a little snort at that; he can’t quite believe Hannibal wanted him to find out at all. “What you said, that day in the motel before you left. When you said you loved me. I should have said it then.”

Blinking hard, chest tight, he whispers, “Said what?”

Hannibal’s voice is soft as he whispers back, “That I love you too. That I have done for years. That you are the only man I want by my side, for always.”

The words he’s always longed to hear, from the only man he’s ever truly wanted to speak them. But it’s anger that fills him now, not joy, and Face lurches to his feet, needing to move. “Then what the fuck, John? You love me but you didn’t say anything, and you drive me to the airport and tell me to come home if I get lonely? You love me but not enough to make me stay?” He drags in a huge breath, trying to calm himself, placing his glasses carefully on the dressing table before he snaps them in half. “I would’ve stayed with you, in a heartbeat.”

“I know.” Hannibal sounds broken, but Face hardens his heart. All he wants to do is kiss the older man senseless, but if Hannibal managed to let him go that easily before… “Temp, I didn’t want to let you go, you have to believe that. And of course I knew you’d stay if I asked. I know you better than anyone else in the world.”

“Then why?”

“Because I can’t give you this.” Hannibal gestures at the room around them, at the bed and the window. “I’m an old man, Temp, and I’m too set in my ways. I can’t do the whole house, family and kids thing. I’m not what you need.”

“Who are you to decide what I need?” Face is stunned again, feeling that last statement like a body blow, knocking all the air from his lungs. “All my life, people have thought they knew what was best for me, what I needed. You were the only one who never did that.” Hannibal is reaching out a hand for him now, but Face shakes his head, staying out of reach. “We were in love, but you decided you weren’t what I need? How dare you?”

“We would only have made each other miserable, trying to be what the other wanted.” Hannibal is clearly struggling for words a little, looking more tired now, and Face feels bad for starting this talk when the older man needs more time to recover his strength. But there can be no going back now. “I knew, no, I thought you needed to try this, to have a chance at finding what you said you wanted. A normal life. I swear, if I thought you weren’t happy, I would have told you, brought you home to me. Wherever home was at that time.”

“So we were in love, but you decided we needed a trial separation? Without even telling me?” He has to laugh at that, just a little. “This is so fucked up, Boss. Do you really think I’ve been happy here, without you?”

“Haven’t you?” And Face has to pause, to think. He squeezes his eyes closed, remembering everything he’s done these last few months. Finding a house, meeting the neighbours, winning over Jasper, finding a job, buying a new sofa… Mostly, some of the time, he thinks he has been happy. But some of it, most of it maybe, the dating, the nights alone…

“No. Not entirely happy.” Keeping his eyes shut, Face leans back against the wall, the revelation leaving him weak. “I missed you so damn much.”

Movement, rustling, and Face opens his eyes to see Hannibal pushing back his blankets, climbing shakily to his feet. Face is across the room in two steps and in Hannibal’s arms, and their lips meet in a fiery smash, no attempt at coordination, just hard pressure, passion, longing. All Face can think is ‘finally’, as Hannibal’s strong hands lock around his elbows to pull him closer, as his burning lips sear him to his very soul.

But all too soon Hannibal is pulling back with a shake of his head, breathing hard. Confused, Face tries to lean forward to capture those lips again, but the colonel’s strong hands won’t let him move. “John, what - ?”

“We can’t, we shouldn’t.” Hannibal takes half a step back, putting far too much distance between their two bodies. “Nothing has changed, Temp. We still want different things.”

“No we don’t. I want you. You want me.” He strains forward again, not understanding. “That’s all that matters.”

“No, we need to talk this through. I won’t do anything to hurt you, kid, but you have to know that we can’t stay with you here. That I can’t stay with you.” All the fight goes out of Face at that statement, but he knows what he can do, what he has to do. But before he can speak, Hannibal keeps right on talking, loosening the grip on his arms and sinking back on the bed. “Before you say anything, before you say you’ll come with me, you need to think about it. What has really changed in the last six months? I only want the best for you, kid, you have to believe that.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Face takes his own steps backwards now, confused but still aroused, and the air is too thin. He needs to get out of this room, away from this infuriating yet wonderful man. 

Before he quite makes it out of the room, though, Hannibal’s voice calls him back, sounding almost apologetic. “Are we safe here? For now?”

The fact that Hannibal hasn’t asked until now is a sign of how far he is from being a hundred percent better, and Face comforts himself that he still has time to convince the colonel they should be together, to find some middle ground. They love each other, and that has to be enough. Everything else is unimportant. Hannibal loves him, and the true wonder of that hasn’t quite sunk in yet.

Still, Hannibal’s question is a good one, a valid one, and one that deserves an answer. “You’re all safe, for now,” Face speaks over his shoulder, not wanting to turn back to the stubborn man in the bed. “My neighbours know I have visitors, but I don’t think they’re suspicious. I’ve called in sick at work so they aren’t expecting me. We’ve been keeping a watch. You’re safe here.”

“Please don’t go.” A note of pleading in Hannibal’s voice now, but Face can’t stay. If he stays, he knows he’ll throw himself at the older man again, and his heart can’t take being turned away yet again. He needs time to work on a plan – Hannibal isn’t the only one who can think three steps ahead.

“Give me a reason to stay,” he says instead. When there is nothing but silence in answer, he holds his head high and forces himself to walk away, for now. “Get some more sleep, John.” He doesn’t look back.

* * *

It’s a nice neighbourhood, BA has to admit as he walks down the streets, trying to keep pace with Face’s long strides. He can see why his friend chose to start his new life here. Not a particularly rich or posh area, maybe not what he would have picked out for the image-obsessed conman, but friendly and welcoming certainly.

BA had been so certain Hannibal and Face were going to sort everything out in that bedroom. The look of determination in Face’s eyes, the moment of realisation he’d seen in Hannibal’s, that had all given him hope they might finally get their heads on straight. He didn’t know exactly what happened between them last night, but something certainly had. Face had been on edge all morning, lost in thought.

So he’d expected… something, certainly. He’d not expected his friend to come back down looking worse than when he’d gone up, almost as exhausted as Hannibal had looked. Then Face had grabbed a sweater and his keys, announcing he was going to the store, and just waked straight out the front door.

“What’s the hurry, man?” BA huffs, a little overdramatically maybe, but Face has barely acknowledged him since he’d snatched up his own jacket and hat to follow his friend. Something told BA leaving Face on his own right now was a bad idea.

He already thought leaving Face alone six months ago had been a terrible idea.

“No hurry, big guy.” Damn, that was Face’s ‘con’ voice, the one that said everything was okay but really meant the exact opposite. “Just stretching my legs. I got to get some more milk.”

Okay, so that actually was perfectly possible, and for a moment BA feels a little guilty, knowing he’s the one drinking most of the milk. Face had just had a single litre of skimmed in his fridge when they’d arrived, but that hadn’t lasted long. Still, no way this was about milk. 

“What the hell, man?” No point beating around the bush, and no point letting Face just simmer until he blew. Murdock was better at talking Face out when he was like this, but the pilot was going to be having a very similar conversation with Hannibal right now, BA was certain of that. Still, BA had often found his direct approach worked just as well. “Ain’t nothin’ urgent about milk. What did Hannibal say that’s sent you runnin’?”

“I’m not running.” As if to prove his point, Face suddenly slows to a near-crawl, offering BA an apologetic smile before he suddenly waves to someone on the opposite side of the street. “Hi, Miss Cooper!”

“Good morning, Mr Grant!” The sweet little old lady doesn’t stop her careful shuffle along the sidewalk, but does return Face’s wave. BA can’t miss the way her eyes flick over to him briefly, and was suddenly very glad he’d grabbed a hat to cover his distinctive Mohawk. A partial disguise at least. “You all okay there, young man?”

Face seems to pick up on her concern and starts them walking a little faster again. “Fine, thanks, Ma’am. I’ll call over later and see you maybe, bring back that casserole dish for you.” And they are quickly past her and off down the street, BA subconsciously heaving a sigh of relief.

“Damn. You that friendly with everyone, Face?” he breathes, wondering why he’s surprised. They’ve already said good morning to four other people on their brief walk.

“Doesn’t hurt to be nice, Bosco. I live here, remember?” Face seems a little more relaxed now, maybe pulling out of whatever funk he was slipping into. “It’s been good for me, this place.”

BA can’t miss the use of the past tense there. A way in, perhaps? “You thinkin’ of movin’, maybe?”

Face clenches his fists by his sides, and growls a little. “That stubborn colonel of ours, man. I have no choice, so it seems, not if I want to be with - ” But his friend cuts himself off, blushing a little, so BA pushes on.

“You talked, then?” He’d wondered if it was something like that. He really doesn’t want to get involved in their relationship – and he really, really doesn’t ever want details – but these two men mean so much to him. He just wants this all settled between them. “It’s taken you two fools long enough to admit it.”

“You mean… You know?” Face looks understandably wary, still guarding his emotions after his brief outburst. “How can you…?”

“You ain’t either of you as subtle as you think, Faceman.” BA can’t resist a chuckle at the look of shock on his friend’s face. “The other fool and I spotted it years ago. Amazed it took you this long.”

Another long pause as they cross one street, then another. Then Face leans closer to him, jabbing an elbow into his ribs. “You couldn’t have told us, maybe?”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” He’s joking of course, and wouldn’t that have just been the most awkward, impossible conversation to have? Besides – “Ain’t ever been none of our business, not really.” Face nods a little in agreement before BA continues, “So, Hannibal wants you back with us? With him? The two of you together at last?”

“No.” Well, that wasn’t what he was expecting. He figured Hannibal had begged Face to leave his new life and come back to the team, and fully expected that Face would come running. “No, he thinks we wouldn’t either of us be happy together, if we stayed here or if we went back on the run with you guys. He didn’t even want to talk about it.”

“He doesn’t want to hurt you,” BA hears himself say, even as his brain is still digesting the new knowledge. That does make a lot of Hannibal-sense; the colonel has an old-fashioned sense of chivalry and honour. “You really weren’t happy livin’ like we do, doin’ what we do. That wasn’t all about thinkin’ Hannibal didn’t love you back, surely?”

“No. No, it wasn’t. But maybe if we were together, everything else would feel different. I just don’t know.” Face sounds pretty depressed, and BA wishes he had some answers for his friend. But sometimes love just isn’t enough, not when there have been so many years of anticipation.

But then, BA thinks of the way Face would guide Hannibal when their colonel was forming a plan, careful questions designed to draw out the other man’s thoughts and ideas. “So what’s the middle ground?” he asks, and Face stops dead in the middle of the sidewalk, like he hadn’t even thought of that. “Where’s the compromise?”

* * *

“What do you mean?” Hannibal looks more than a little taken aback by Murdock’s direct question. The pilot had been surprised when the colonel had staggered downstairs a few minutes earlier, clearly fresh out of the shower. He looked better than he had done, still very tired but clean and shaven at least.

So, Murdock had felt no need to hold back. There was a time to talk around the subject and a time to just come out and say things straight, he figured. After watching Face storm out of the house earlier, this was definitely the latter.

“Did you finally tell Face you love him?” he repeats, and watches Hannibal sink into the sofa opposite him, wondering if the older man will try to deny everything.

“How is this the topic?” Stalling for time but not denying it, Murdock notes as the colonel continues. “I feel fine, thank you for asking. I take it the boys are safe, and the job got done? And you’re okay?”

“Good to hear, yes, yes and just fine, Sir. But my question still stands.”

“Murdock, I don’t think that’s any of your business” There’s a note in Hannibal’s voice that tells him not to push his luck, but what the hell, he’s come this far.

“With all due respect, Sir, when it affects the whole team it is my business. You’ve been miserable since he left, and he’s clearly missed you so much. You should’ve seen him while you were unconscious.” Hannibal seems to deflate a little, lips still pursed but listening at least, so Murdock dares to go on. “So did you tell him, Sir? ‘Cos you know he loves you too, right? Then this can all be better again.”

“It’s not that simple, Captain.” After a moment, Hannibal pushes up out of the cushions and walks over to the window, where Face’s cute kitty is asleep on the ledge in the sun. Murdock resists the urge to follow him, sensing the other man needs some space. “He doesn’t want to live life on the run, and I don’t think I can do all this.”

For a moment, he wonders what exactly Hannibal might mean, but then it hits him. The colonel has never struck him as the domestic sort, while Face has always longed for all the little comforts he never had, like his designer suits and expensive shampoos. Face has always been the mother hen of the team, though Murdock had always assumed a lot of that came with the whole XO thing – Face always took care of the details. Of course, it seems obvious to him now that that would extend into wanting a home and a cat. Nesting, maybe.

“So what’s the middle ground, Boss?” he whispers into the silence. “Where’s the compromise? ‘Cos you can’t just throw away a chance at love, not livin’ like we do, not ever. You know Facey would do whatever it takes, if you’ll just let him.”

More silence for a long moment, and Murdock can almost see the wheels turning in the older man’s head. Hannibal has his arms folded tightly across his chest, an oddly defensive pose for such a decisive man, and the pilot can’t miss the slight frown hovering on that strong brow.

“Meet him halfway…” Hannibal muses, more to himself than to anyone else, and Murdock has to bite his tongue to stop himself shouting out in excitement. About time! But before either of them can carry on, the colonel suddenly takes an abrupt step backwards, dodging out of view of the window and holding a hand up for silence.

And Murdock’s pulse starts racing.

* * *

“Tim!” BA recognises the old man hurrying towards them, dog tugging on its leash, as Face’s neighbour. “Wait up there a moment, son!”

Face steps back onto the sidewalk, a tiny frown creasing his brow. They’d just been about to cross over to the little corner shop, still bouncing around ideas for a middle ground both Face and Hannibal could live with. The dog jumps up at Face, and BA watches as his friend kneels down to greet it properly. Billy, he remembers; like he needs another Billy in his life. Still, at least he can see this one.

“You okay, Mr Douglas?” Face asks, as BA lets the dog sniff his hand. It seems to remember him – they’d met briefly the day before, when BA had been getting the last of their stuff out of the van before he moved it over a couple of streets. They were trying to be subtle, of course, but in a neighbourhood like Face’s, small and close-knit, if they tried to hide too obviously it would almost be worse. Certainly a whole lot more suspicious.

The old man takes a moment to catch his breath before he answers, and Face stands back up. BA feels his stomach clench with worry, while he notices his friend tense up almost imperceptibly. 

“Had some people stop by late yesterday,” Mr Douglas starts, tugging Billy back down as he jumps up at Face again. “Asking me a few questions about my neighbours and any guests that might be staying. Any reason maybe you can think of?”

“Do you mind if I ask what you told them?” Face’s voice is deceptively soft and calm, and BA remembers he’s good friends with the old guy. “Um, anything about - ?”

“Didn’t see any point mentioning your friends, son, and I said you’d lived there for years.” Mr Douglas looks pretty pleased with himself, and BA can’t help but smile even as he knows that won’t be enough to protect them. “Said you worked nights and not to bother you during the day.”

“Thank you, sir. You really didn’t have to do that.” There’s relief in Face’s voice, though BA knows his friend will be as worried as he is. If the MPs think they’ve found them, why didn’t they just kick their door in? “But there really isn’t anything going on, I promise.”

“Cops arresting the A Team next door to me? Not happening on my watch.” Again the smug look on the old man’s features, but BA is struck dumb by that. 

Face manages to keep himself a little more together, of course. “Look, Mr Douglas, I don’t know what you mean. Maybe you’re a little confused.”

“Don’t you try and tell me I’m confused, son.” The old guy puffs himself up a little in his heavy coat. “I got two sons of my own who keep telling me I’m losing my marbles. I got two granddaughters too, one of whom got a helping hand from you boys a while back. Delia Jackson? Lowlife scum of a druggie boyfriend?”

It takes a moment, but then BA remembers her. Sweet college girl, got mixed up in the wrong crowd. The college itself had called in the team when the gangs had started taking over – turned out the wrong crowd had included most of the local police force.

Face too clearly remembers her. “She’s doing okay?” he asks, dropping all pretence, and smiles when the old man nods.

“She’s just fine, thanks to you all. Graduated last summer, working in a law firm in Boston now. So you see why I wasn’t going to drop you in it?”

“Yes. And really, thank you.” Face takes half a step back the way they’ve come, milk forgotten, and BA has to agree. MPs or not, if people are asking around about them then the team have to move, and fast. “I think maybe we should be heading back home.”

But Mr Douglas reaches out and catches Face’s elbow, a sudden look of almost-panic on his face. “One last thing, Tim, now I think about it. I saw them going in to the Robinson’s place after they left me. And they were in there a long while.”

“We gotta go, man,” BA finds his voice at last, tugging Face’s other arm, and the pair of them take off at a swift jog back towards Face’s little house, already dreading what they might find there. It’s time to hit the road once again.

In his mind, BA is already running through things they need to pack up before they can get going. They’ve done this before, too many times, and he can understand why Face got sick of the whole thing. At least Hannibal is awake and aware, that’ll make running easier, but as he steals a sideways glance at his friend jogging beside him, BA can’t help but wonder about one big question mark.

Will Face run with them? 

* * *

At first, Hannibal had thought nothing of the black van driving down the street. It was a common enough model, certainly. When it passed by the second time, alarm bells had started ringing somewhere in his tired mind, but now, as it makes a third pass, Hannibal jolts back away from the window, out of sight, holding up a hand for Murdock to remain silent.

To his relief, it drives on slowly past Face’s house once again. He can just make out three burly figures in the front seat, though not clearly enough to make out who they might be, but Hannibal notices one blurred face staring intently at the front yard. There is no doubt in his mind that it is this house they are watching, and he’s never been more pleased to see BA has moved the team’s own van off the street somewhere. Hopefully close by.

“Get us packed,” he hisses over his shoulder to Murdock, daring to move a little closer to the window again and watching as the van turns the corner at the end of the street, still driving at a snail’s pace.

“Military?” the other man asks, and Hannibal turns a little to see him already in motion, scooping a handful of things from the coffee table.

Shaking his head once, Hannibal tries to think fast. He’s still a little shaky, and a little strung-out after the discussion – argument, really – with Face earlier, and he has to force himself to focus now. “Don’t think so. They would’ve kicked the door in by now.” A sudden thought. “Where did Face and BA go?”

“Out,” Murdock calls back as he hurries out of the room, and a moment later the sound of footsteps thundering upstairs leaves Hannibal alone with his racing heart.

“Not helpful,” he murmurs to himself. Spotting familiar bags by the kitchen door, he quickly rummages through them until he finds what he’s looking for. A pair of handguns, plus a handful of bullets.

Feeling a little more settled with the weight of the loaded gun nestled securely in his palm, the second gun tucked into the back of his pants, Hannibal returns to the window, peering out carefully. Face’s friendly cat stirs awake at all the movement, starting to purr at full throttle, but he can’t spare a hand to fuss the creature, focussing instead on the road, on the alert for that suspicious van.

His head is spinning. He knows he should be focussed on getting ready to go just in case – there is still a slim chance he is being paranoid, and six years on the run will tend to do that to you – but Murdock knows what needs to be done. They’ve done this before, moving fast at short notice, and of course Hannibal has spent the last two days practically unconscious. He has no idea where his men might have spread their things to.

He knows he should be planning their next move, the next safe house, the next job – he’s already got a few leads lined up – but instead, all Hannibal can think of as he watches out the window, gun in hand, is about meeting Face halfway.

Has he really been so blind to the possibilities? He loves Face, and he’d been so sure he couldn’t give his boy what he wanted, so sure that letting him go had been the right thing to do.

Can he find a compromise that will make them both happy? All he has ever wanted is for Face to be happy. The kid deserves the whole world, and Hannibal never thought he could give him that, old man that he had become. Face’s anger before, in the bedroom, had been fully understandable, he can see that now. He should never have assumed he had the right to make this kind of decision for them both, not without talking it through first.

Neither of them are good at talking, though, he thinks with a wry smile, tensing briefly as a car turns into the street. It drives straight on by, and he forces his finger to relax from its grip on the trigger. They are men, military men at that, and a large part of this whole situation has been caused because neither of them ever said out loud what they really felt, not until his poor Face had taken as much as he could and finally spoke up, saying ‘enough is enough’.

Hannibal knows Murdock is right. Face will do whatever it takes to make this work, but the colonel will not let him just step straight back into the life they’ve lived for the last six years. That is simply not an option in his mind. He remembers too well just how broken Face had sounded that night outside the motel as they sat talking, hand in hand in the rain. He remembers just how miserable the kid had been, and he will not let that happen again.

No, they need to talk, both of them. Two equally stubborn men needing to find some sort of compromise. Love is the easy part, he thinks, but finding a way to live together and be happy is going to be one hell of a challenge. A challenge Hannibal finally thinks he might be up to facing.

The only question right now, of course, it whether they will get the time they need to talk, or if the decision will be taken out of their hands.

And with that thought, Hannibal’s heart sinks in his chest as that same black van finally pulls back into the street, slowing to an eventual stop directly opposite the house. Tightening his grip on the gun, readying himself for whatever is coming, Hannibal wonders just where the hell Face and BA have got to.

* * *

“Murdock?” Face hisses, quietly pulling the back door behind himself as he slips into his kitchen. The house is quiet, no obvious signs of any disturbance, but he still wishes fervently he had a gun with him. “Buddy? Where are you?”

“In here, kid. Quick!” He quickly follows the unexpected voice through to his living room, eyes instantly drawn to Hannibal standing by the window, gun in hand.

No time to wonder why the older man is out of bed, so Face states the obvious instead, moving quickly to the taller man’s side. “We’ve got trouble.”

Hannibal nods, gesturing outside to where Face can see a large black van parked opposite. “They’ve been round the block three times, parked up on the fourth. No movement in the last five minutes.” Even though Hannibal still sounds exhausted, Face is irrationally thrilled to see his Colonel in control once again. He has to admit, he’s missed this a little, this rush of adrenaline. “Murdock’s packing.”

As if on cue, the pilot thunders back down the stairs, two stuffed backpacks in his arms. “We’re good to go,” he reports, dropping them with the other two bags near the kitchen, adjusting his red baseball cap as he stands, quivering with tension and clearly ready to move.

“BA’s already in the van, two streets back,” Face tells them. “Go over the back fence, down the side of the house – Dave’s out at work, no one else will notice. There’s a footpath opposite the house, BA’ll have the van at the far end.” To Hannibal’s questioning look he quickly explains, “Ran into a neighbour. Someone’s been asking questions.”

“Go,” Hannibal orders, and Murdock makes a little whimper, throwing a sad look at Face before bending to gather all the bags together again. 

Face moves quickly to help him load up. “Go on, buddy. We’ll be right behind you.”

He can almost feel Hannibal’s gaze burning into the back of his head, but the other man says nothing until Murdock has vanished out the back door, looking a little like a tortoise with all the bags, and Face turns slowly to look at the other man.

Hannibal’s face is inscrutable as he calmly reaches behind his back, pulling out a second gun and holding it handle first towards Face. Those pale eyes are burning with emotion, though, as Face moves quickly back to his side, taking the gun and checking the ammo. “We’ll be right behind him?” the colonel murmurs. “We? Kid, we need to talk - ”

“I think the time for talking has passed, John.” Staring out at the van, gun by his side, Hannibal’s face is just barely visible in the reflection in the glass, like a strange magic eye puzzle. “If you’re leaving, I’m coming with you. And we’ll just have to find a way to make this work.”

“Face…”

“I know what you’re going to say.” And he does, of course he does. More stupid protests about them not being right for each other, not being able to make each other happy. “And I’m not saying I’m coming back forever, not if things stay as they were. I love you too much not to try to find a way through this. We need to - ”

“ – Compromise.” Hannibal finishes his sentence in a breathless whisper, and Face can’t quite hold back a little gasp. He had a whole speech half-planned, convinced he would have to work hard to make the older man see there was a middle-ground. But Hannibal continues, and with each word Face’s heart feels lighter, despite the ominous presence outside his home.

“We have to find a compromise, kid. I don’t want to make you unhappy, so we won’t go back to the way things used to be. Maybe we can get a permanent base, a home of sorts. Different types of jobs, slow it all down a little – we’re not getting any younger, after all. You could even stay home if you wanted, work regular hours, have dinner on the table - ”

“I’m nobody’s housewife,” Face snaps lightly, throwing a quick smile in Hannibal’s direction, noticing the matching smile already on the older man’s lips. “I love you, you know that, right?”

“I love you too, Templeton.” And oh, his heart sings at the rare use of his given name. “We’ll make it work, I promise.”

Hannibal reaches across and wraps one strong hand into Face’s sweatshirt, hauling him close across the window, and again their lips meet, Face instinctively tilting his head just right as the taller man crowds into his space and proceeds to steal all his air in a blisteringly hot kiss, heedless of the potential danger waiting just outside.

* * *

If Face had thought their earlier kiss was passionate, he was completely wrong. This time, he can tell Hannibal is holding nothing back, so he tries to give as good as he’s getting, a battle of teeth and tongue and lips, the pair of them kissing and kissing again like there’s no tomorrow.

Which, of course, there might not be.

This time it is Face who pulls back first, breathless and breathing hard, forcing his hand to stay wrapped around his gun when all he really wants to do is melt into Hannibal’s arms.

“Dominant, much?” he teases as he settles back against the opposite side of the window, trying to subtly adjust his jeans, which suddenly feel a little tight.

Hannibal just growls. “You have no idea, kid. Oh, here we go.”

Movement from the van outside, and they both raise their guns automatically. Face knows Hannibal won’t run yet, not until they know who is doing this and why. And, to be honest, he really doesn’t want to be run out of this house he’s called home for the last six months. Not without a damn good reason.

“Shit,” Hannibal swears as someone climbs down from the driver’s seat, standing on the edge of the curb, arms crossed and staring directly at Face’s house. Cheap, ill-fitting suit, he notices. Too much gel in that slicked-back hair. Black sunglasses, gun clearly visible in his hand.

Face doesn’t recognise him at all, but every instinct he has is still screaming ‘not military’. “Boss? You know this guy?”

“The last job, kid. That’s the head honcho.”

“The guy who locked you in a dog cage?” Face snaps the safety off his gun, fully prepared to show this asshole exactly what he thinks about that. But Hannibal catches his elbow before he can move towards the front door. 

“Wait for it.”

* * *

Two more men in the front seat, no clear line of sight into the back of the van. Hannibal knows there is no way this man will have come to talk – there is nothing left to say, nothing the team owe him. But pride and bruised feelings are at play here. Plus a few dead henchmen. No, this is personal, and as much as he hates to run, this might be a good time to do just that.

Correction, he thinks quickly as the side door slides open and three, four, no, more… Eight guys dressed in black climb out, fanning out across the street, guns clearly visible in the daylight. If this man is crazy enough to do this in a residential street in the middle of the day… Now is most definitely the time to run.

“Go, Face, go!” He pushes the kid ahead of him as they cross the room, but the younger man pulls away, dropping to his knees by the sofa, reaching for something hidden beneath. A moment passes, a long moment, and Hannibal glances anxiously back out the window. The men have split, some moving rapidly to the sides of the house, while two are headed straight for the front door, guns outstretched. Surely someone has called the cops by now?

“Got it.” Face is back on his feet, leading the way through to the kitchen, a small travel bag slung over his shoulder now. “Let’s get the hell out of here!”

The first thundering kick lands on the front door at that point, and a second later a ginger streak shoots past them both: Jasper making his own break for freedom out of the catflap. Face pauses at the back door, one hand on the handle, glancing quickly at Hannibal who simply nods once, gun steady.

Another kick to the front door, followed by a dull thud as it gives under the pressure, and they are moving, in unison, as they’ve always done. The perfect team.

But the gang have got around the house faster than Hannibal would have thought possible, and a hail of gunfire greets them as they burst out the back door, forcing them back inside. As the door closes, Hannibal notices the ginger blur as Jasper vanishes over the fence – at least the cat is safe, but as soon as he thinks that his attention is immediately seized by Face grasping his left bicep and hissing in pain, dropping back against the kitchen wall.

“Kid?” he whispers urgently, gun still at the ready, hearing movement in the hallway of the small house. They don’t have much time, and they are surrounded. The police must be on their way by now; another problem to face.

“Just a scratch, Boss.” Face peels bloody fingers away from his arm and straightens, those bright blue eyes as alive as Hannibal can remember seeing them. “We gotta go.”

Nodding, Hannibal knows they have no choice. “Let’s do it!”

No further words necessary, no count of three. They throw the door open and run, working together instinctively to shoot at the lurking black figures, ducking and dodging as bullets fly. Face’s backyard is small, and it is the work of a moment for Hannibal to vault over the fence, laying down covering fire as Face leaps over too, landing heavily on the damp ground with a grunt.

There is shouting and swearing now, as they dash through the alley and across a road, forcing a car to break hard to avoid hitting them, then Hannibal pauses long enough to push Face ahead of him as they run down the footpath. The kid is breathing hard, stumbling a little, maybe just a bit out of shape, bag still secure on his back, and Hannibal nearly shouts for joy when he spots BA’s van, waiting just where Face said it would be.

Murdock is at the end of the path, weapon drawn, side door of the van open and waiting for them, and Hannibal just throws every last ounce of energy he has into putting on a final burst of speed, pushing a staggering Face into the van as the pilot lays down covering fire. He turns quickly to cover in turn as Murdock scrambles inside, pulling the door shut behind him and shouting, “Drive, BA!”

Murdock lets out a howl of relief as BA does just that, wheels spinning wildly, and once again Hannibal feels incredibly grateful for this remarkable team of his, now four once again. He claps Face gently on his good arm as he climbs over into the passenger seat, wishing desperately for a cigar.

“Well done, boys,” he says with a smile, happy to bump Bosco’s proffered fist. “Everyone okay?”

“Just fine, Boss.” BA answers first, dark eyes focussed on the road ahead, glancing repeatedly into the mirrors for any sign of a tail. “Think we’re away clear. Where to?”

“Anywhere for now. Just away.” Rummaging through the glove box, Hannibal finally finds a cigar at the bottom, holding it up in triumph. “Aha! Face? Murdock? All okay back there?”

Another howl from Murdock, followed by, “All good, Hannibal! That was close as all hell!”

“Hannibal?” Face’s voice is softer, barely audible over the noise of the van’s engine. “I think… I think I’m hit…”

Hannibal’s first thought is for the scratch on Face’s arm, which is bound to sting badly as the adrenaline wears off. But there is something in the boy’s voice that starts him turning, even before Murdock’s terrified “Hannibal!” sends him scrambling back over the seat into the rear of the van, cigar falling forgotten to the floor.

Not now, please, he thinks desperately. Not now. Not after everything they’ve been through. Not after all his own stupid decisions. Not when they are so close to finally trying this, trying to work out if what he and Face feel for each other can really live up to their dreams, the weight of so many years of expectation. Not now, please. Not Face. Not ever.

Face is sprawled against the wall of the van, long legs folded beneath his body. He has both hands clenched into fists, pressed into his stomach, and as Hannibal reaches his side, Murdock is able to lift those hands away with barely any resistance offered. The pilot lifts his friend’s heavy sweatshirt up to reveal an ominous dark stain soaking through Face’s light t-shirt, spreading rapidly across his belly. And Hannibal’s world shatters as Face’s eyes roll back in his head and his body falls limp.

* * *

The room is quiet, so very quiet. Almost silent, apart from the soft hiss of machines and the gentle beep of monitors, all doing their part to help keep the man lying in the bed alive. Hannibal sighs a little, scrubbing one hand through his short hair for what feels like the thousandth time since they reached this little hospital, almost four days ago.

Had he made the right decisions? In those first few panicked moments back in the van, after Face had passed out, his body falling terrifyingly still, blood soaking through his clothes and dripping to the floor of the van, had he made the wrong choice? Between Hannibal and Murdock, they’d quickly eased their injured team mate to the floor, and Hannibal had to physically push his horror back, mentally pulling on his Colonel hat, taking charge of the situation, making rapid decisions. Not thinking about just who it was lying there bleeding. Not thinking about just how much Face meant to him.

Shouting at BA to keep driving, as fast as he could, they had stripped away Face’s layers, mopping at the blood until they found the bullet hole. Small, perfectly round, just above and to the left of his navel. No exit wound. With Murdock applying pressure – Face hadn’t even stirred at the touch – the flow of blood had eased, and Hannibal made the difficult decision to bypass the main hospital, where there would certainly be questions and police, instead guiding BA to drive further out to this little community hospital, where a ‘hunting accident’ might be more believable.

The whole drive, minutes that felt like hours, he’d resisted the urge to second-guess himself. Face’s pulse stayed reasonably strong, even if it was far too fast, and his breathing had been surprisingly good, though he remained unconscious. They’d had time. But then, as they reached the emergency room, Face had suddenly deteriorated. His chest had stopped rising and falling. His heart stopped beating. Hannibal had felt like his own heart stopped at the same time, so in tune was he with his boy.

Even now, four days later, his heart feels jittery, shaky. Sitting forward again in his chair, ridiculously glad once more that this little ICU has cushioned seats to support his old body, Hannibal takes Face’s limp, pale hand in his own, mindful of all the IV tubes and needles.

“Was I wrong, baby?” he whispers into the silence, stroking his free hand slowly up Face’s arm. The pet name slips out without conscious thought, but it feels right. His boy feels cold, though, chilled where fever had burned so recently – it is the work of a moment to tug another blanket gently over Face’s motionless form. “There you go. That’s better, right?”

Still no response. He isn’t expecting one, not really, but he hopes. The doctors tell him everything is going as well as they can expect right now, that Face will probably remain critical for at least another 24 hours, possibly longer. The bullet, amazingly, had missed hitting anything vital, lodging near his spine – they’d had to remove his spleen, the biggest casualty so far – but there had been massive internal bleeding. Nearly six hours of emergency surgery had managed to repair the worst of the damage, but a post-surgical infection had taken hold, leaving Face fighting for his life all over again.

“You never do things by halves, kid.” Hannibal knows Face can’t hear him, deeply unconscious under layers of painkillers and sedatives and antibiotics. But he finds he can’t not talk to him, not now he can finally say everything that is on his mind, everything he feels. “Everything or nothing, right?”

The hiss of the ventilator is the only answer, of course. There is talk of taking Face off it later that day. His doctors finally think they have the infection under control, and his vitals have finally started climbing back towards normal levels, after days of sudden alarms and constant worry and Hannibal being forced out of his boy’s room as doctors and nurses rushed in.

He’s been able to stay, at least, with few questions asked. Miraculously, Face’s little travel bag had contained copies of all his new ID for his Timothy Grant persona, including medical insurance documents. Sat by himself in that tiny surgical waiting area, Hannibal had tried to keep himself busy, tried not to think of Face bleeding, dying, not now, not ever. Instead, he’d gone through that little bag, not at all surprised to see exactly how organised his boy had been.

A change of clothes, of course, and a fully charged pre-paid mobile phone. Cash, credit cards, two other sets of ID in different names. His dogtags, wrapped safely inside a pair of socks. A photo of the team, slipped between the pages of an old, battered spy novel Hannibal had given him years ago. A photo of Hannibal, by himself, framed. That had nearly broken the colonel all over again.

“Hi, John.” Soft footsteps startle Hannibal out of his thoughts, and he looks up to see one of the ICU nurses, Katherine, holding Face’s notes and smiling at him from the far side of the bed. “Just time for Tim’s obs. Any problems?”

“No. Nothing that I can see, at least.” He hates how rough his voice is right now – he’s exhausted himself and running on empty, despite sleeping in this soft chair whenever he can. “All quiet.”

“Quiet is good.” She starts to check over all the machines, the IV lines, and Hannibal lets his gaze drift back to his boy’s pale face. A hint of colour there now, at least, where before there had only been grey skin and blue-tinged lips. “Quiet means he’s healing.”

“Is he really?”

Katherine leans over and pats his hand where it is still wrapped tightly around Face’s. “He’s stable, John. His blood tests are looking good, his temperature is back to normal, breathing far more satisfactory. He is healing, slowly. Just give him time – I know it’s hard, the waiting.”

Hannibal can only nod to that. He doesn’t have to hide his feelings, for once, doesn’t have to pretend he is Face’s father or uncle – both cons they have pulled off in the past, but this time he knew he was too shaken to pretend to be family. So he’d claimed to be a close friend, a hunting buddy, but a perceptive young doctor had asked if maybe he was something closer, ‘no offense intended, Sir, but there’s something, it’s okay…’

Murdock and BA, of course, had already figured out the gist of what had happened in the house, before all the bullets started flying, and the hunting accident had seemed to be accepted without police being called, so Hannibal had said ‘yes’ for the first time. Yes, he was something closer than a friend.

Now, Face just needs to get better so they can take their new relationship status for a test drive. Hannibal doesn’t even know quite how to think of him – are they dating? Boyfriends? Not lovers yet, but once Face is healed, hopefully. For now, Face is simply his boy, as he has always been and always will be. His love.

Despite the grim situation, despite the constant fear gnawing at his gut, he can’t help feeling like a teenager again. They are really going to try this. Face loves him, and he loves Face, so very much, and they’ll find a way.

“We’ll make it work, I promise,” he whispers, forgetting for a moment that the nurse is still there. “Sorry,” he tells her sheepishly, leaning back into his chair but keeping hold of his boy’s hand. To her slightly questioning look, he explains, “We’ve been working away from each other for a while, but we’d finally decided to move in together.” A partial truth.

“That’s wonderful,” Katherine coos softly, smoothing a stray curl back from Face’s forehead. Hannibal hates himself for the little flash of irrational jealously he feels at her simple action. “You’re a lucky man, Tim. Let’s get you all better so you can both go try it.” She looks over at Hannibal, suddenly serious as she adds, “You realise he’s going to need a lot of TLC for quite some time to come.”

“I can do that,” he vows, already three steps ahead of her. One good thing at least about spending a few days in one place, even if that place is an intensive care unit, is that he’s had plenty of time to think through different scenarios for their ‘compromise’. Worst case scenario is that Face is still miserable with the way they live, or that Hannibal himself becomes unhappy living a quieter life, though this scare has made him see that maybe the time has come for a quieter life. In six years on the run, this is the first time one of them has ended up in the ICU – they’ve been ridiculously lucky, he knows, but their luck couldn’t last forever.

No, the worst case scenario isn’t even a possibility, not really, but Hannibal has to acknowledge it at least, if only to completely discard it as an option.

As the nurse carefully slides Face’s notes back into their holder before slipping away, Hannibal leans forward again, shuffling to the edge of his seat so he can comfortably reach up to stroke one hand through his boy’s limp curls.

“You’re going to make it, Temp,” he whispers. “And then we’ll talk about this, you and me. We’ll talk until we can’t talk any more. I’m thinking we’ll have a home base, somewhere warm down south, near a beach for you. I know you’d love that. Or maybe, we could have a second place, like a holiday home, further north. Fields, mountains… Whatever you want.” He leans a little closer still, pressing a careful kiss to Face’s forehead. “We’ll talk about what we do for work – simpler missions, certainly, not like before. Surveillance. Computer fraud. No more bullets, I promise. Never again.” He shudders. The bullet they pulled from his boy’s abdomen is the last he ever wants to see.

“We’ll have to talk to BA and Murdock, too,” he tells the unconscious man. “This affects them as well, this thing between you and me. But I don’t think they’ll mind too much.”

“No, I don’t think they will.” Again, Hannibal is startled by an unexpected voice. When did he stop being so aware of his surroundings? When did Face become the centre of his whole universe?

It’s BA, looking tired and worried. This is only the second time he’s been able to see Face since everything happened. That first day, after Face had been taken away by the doctors, Murdock had had a little breakdown of sorts, or the nearest he’s come in six years, screaming and shouting and fighting. So BA had swept him away, out of the hospital, out of the area – they couldn’t risk drawing any more attention to themselves, and the two men had spent the last few days holed up in a nearby motel.

Phone calls just weren’t enough, and BA had finally made it in yesterday morning for a little while, comfortable enough to leave Murdock on his own again for an hour or so. Right now, Hannibal is so very glad of the company he feels he could almost cry.

“Hey, big guy,” is what he says instead, as BA comes to stand awkwardly at the foot of the bed.

“How’s he doin’?”

“Better, I think. No worse, at least.” Hannibal fills the other man in on what the doctors have said before asking, “How’s Murdock? And how are you?”

BA huffs a little, folding his arms across his chest, massive biceps bulging beneath his thin shirt. “Me? I’m just fine, boss. Murdock’s okay, too, mostly back to himself and drivin’ me crazy, though he keeps askin’ to come see Face. I told him maybe tomorrow?”

It’s both a question and a statement, so Hannibal just nods. It isn’t fair to keep Murdock from his best friend any longer, even if it might create a scene in the hospital, and hopefully Face will, at the very least, be breathing for himself by then. “Sounds like a plan.”

BA shifts a little, shuffling from foot to foot, and Hannibal studies him carefully. He can read all of his men like books, and right now BA looks guilty. Just as the thought crosses his tired mind, the other man meets his gaze. Definitely guilty of something, he thinks, so he quirks one eyebrow up in question.

With a sigh, BA drops his arms, stuffing his hands into his pockets instead. “We took a drive, Hannibal,” he starts, and immediately Hannibal knows where this is going. “Back towards Face’s place. Had to find out what happened, after.”

“Bosco…” Hannibal lets his head hang, shaking it slowly. “Tell me you didn’t…”

“No police presence, Boss. It was safe.” Defensive, understandably. “Talked to Mr Douglas, his neighbour. They got most of the gang under arrest; apparently cops got there just as we were gettin’ away.”

He knows he should be more angry than he is, but staring back down at Face, so pale and so still, Hannibal finds he really isn’t bothered. Except for one thing – “Anyone else get hurt? His neighbours, friends?”

“Nope, all good. You hit a couple of the gang, though. Can’t believe them fools came after us in broad daylight!” BA’s low chuckle sounds wrong in the quiet of the ICU, but Hannibal can’t help but smile too. Definitely fools, the whole lot of them.

“So we’re safe for now?” The second time in a week that Hannibal has asked the question. The second time in a week he hasn’t been the one with all the knowledge in the palm of his hand, and he hates it, feeling his jaw clench a little. He should be the one arranging everything, finding out what happened, knowing if they are safe or if they should run. But Face…

“Yeah, boss. Safe.” Still unable to tear his eyes from his boy’s face, Hannibal senses rather than sees BA move around behind his chair. And he doesn’t startle when a heavy hand lands on his shoulder, squeezing gently “’Sokay, man. You keep your focus here, with him. He’ll be okay, I’m sure.”

And the hand is gone, BA on his way out again already. “Thanks,” Hannibal calls softly. “Thank you, Bosco.”

Already halfway across the room, BA turns back a little, nodding. “I’d best go check on Murdock. Since we saw Mr Douglas, the fool’s obsessed with the idea of us taking Jasper with us when we go.”

Jasper? The name means nothing for a moment, but then Hannibal suddenly realises. “His cat?”

“Yeah. Mr D’s lookin’ after him; apparently he’s gettin’ along just fine with his old dog. But you know Murdock.” A rare, wide BA grin, then the other man sobers a little, casting one final glance at Face before nodding and heading straight on out.

Turning fully back to Face now, Hannibal can’t help but smile himself. “Can you imagine BA letting your cat live in his van?” He adjusts Face’s blankets a little, knowing he’s fussing but unable to help himself. Maybe, once they finally settle somewhere, they can find a way to get Jasper back to Face. He can see them having lots of cats, the two of them.

For now, alone again with his boy, Hannibal’s thoughts turn back to the future. The immediate future this time, once Face is awake and healed enough for them to move. “I’ll get you that beach house you wanted, baby,” he promises, throat a little tight, eyes a little blurry. “Back before all this mess started, before I let you leave, you wanted a beach house. You deserve that, my boy, my love…” And the emotion finally gets to him, the tears escaping his eyes, as he begs, “Just be okay, please. You have to be okay.”

* * *

He doesn’t really remember much about the hospital, drifting in and out of a drugged sleep, but he does remember Hannibal’s comforting presence, every time the fog lifted enough to let him crack his eyes open. Apparently, he’d stayed there almost three weeks in the end, but it may as well have been three days or even three months for all Face knows.

Similarly, he remembers little about the long drive south, blissed out on a powerful cocktail of morphine mixed with goodness only knows what. Hazy memories of being held securely in strong arms, nestled in a mountain of pillows and blankets, being soothed back to sleep by whispered words of love.

Even the first week or two they spent here at this isolated beach house remain a little blurry in his mind. He’s been exhausted beyond all reason, sleeping most of the time, swallowing whatever pills the team offer him, choking down Murdock’s homemade soups and BA’s freshly blended fruit juices. If he doesn’t move, he finds the pain is bearable, but of course Hannibal won’t let him just lie there and sleep away the days and nights.

And Face knows, deep down, Hannibal is right to make him move, right to get him sitting in a chair rather than crashed out flat on the bed, but that knowledge doesn’t stop him cursing and shouting out when the colonel makes him swing his legs over the side of the bed once again, forcing him upright. It doesn’t stop the angry tears of pain and frustration rolling down his face when Hannibal helps him stagger to the shower, or out on to the sheltered deck for some fresh air.

Movement of any kind hurts like hell at first, sending sharp stabbing pains burning through his belly and into his lower back, but he learns to breathe through it, rather than tensing up and holding his breath, like his instincts tell him to do. And of course Hannibal sits by his side, gently rubbing circles on his back or across his chest, as he gasps for oxygen and the room tilts around him.

Gradually, as the days pass, it all becomes a little easier. His legs, still weak and shaky, start to feel like they belong to him again, finally beginning to respond to his commands. He learns to avoid certain movements, moves that make his head go airy and spacy. It becomes habit to roll to his side, hugging a soft pillow to his stomach before trying to sit up. 

And yes, he’s grateful Hannibal forced him up before he thought he was ready. A hot shower always makes him feel better, even if it is taken while he sits on a plastic chair with Hannibal washing his hair for him. And the fresh air is good, sunshine and the smell of the sea rather than his stuffy sickroom. Once he is able to cut back a little more on the painkillers, his head finally clearing all the way, he feels his strength start to return quickly, though of course the downside is he feels more of the pain. It’s a tricky balancing act.

It’s all so unfair, he thinks. He doesn’t say it out loud of course, knowing it would just make him sound like he was complaining. The whole team have rallied around him, though Hannibal has been doing the lion’s share of caring for him, changing the dressings on the long incision splitting his abdomen in two. He appreciates all the cooking Murdock has been doing for him, sensing his friend hasn’t coped so well with his injury, though they don’t talk about it. The pilot has been careful to make foods he can tolerate with the all the nausea caused by his painkillers, and he’s been good company, bringing him a steady stream of DVDs they can watch together – mostly comedies and cartoons, though if he laughs too hard it feels like his stomach will split open again – and Face almost feels guilty for falling asleep during most of them.

BA has been there for all the heavy lifting when Hannibal finally gives in to the need for sleep, catching Face once or twice when his legs have suddenly given out, and carrying him back to his bed when the pills make him pass out on the sofa. But Face knows BA feels a little guilty for not coming back to the house with him that day, thinking somehow he could have changed everything by his sheer presence. Face told his friend honestly that, if the van hadn’t been there waiting that day, he wouldn’t have made it. But they’ll have to have that conversation again someday soon – Bosco is still hovering, his actions speaking louder than words.

And Hannibal. Wonderful, amazing Hannibal. That’s why this is all so unfair, Face thinks with a sigh, carefully rolling to his side and pulling his pillow into his stomach when his muscles spasm. Lying on his bed, looking out the window he can see the older man out on the deck, tossing a brightly coloured beach ball around with Murdock. Hannibal looks absolutely phenomenal, dressed only in loose khaki shorts, all tanned muscle and long limbs, silver hair shining in the sunlight. You really wouldn’t know he would be sixty in a few months – that long, lean body had aged well, skin and muscle only now starting to sag a little, though to Face’s trained eye he can see Hannibal moves ever so slightly slower than he used to, a lifetime of injuries and hard work catching up with him.

Face laughs softly to himself, hugging his pillow a little tighter. Who is he to talk about moving slower when it took him nearly fifteen minutes to walk the ten metres through to the lounge earlier that morning?

It’s just so unfair. Just when he and Hannibal seemed to be working things out, just when they were going to find a way to step back from all the violence and guns, Face has to go and catch a bullet in his gut.

He’d known gut shots could be bad. Hell, he’d seen enough of them in his years with the Rangers. He knew he’d been lucky, knew it had been touch and go for a long time in the hospital. He knew just how many stitches, both internal and external, it had taken to stop him bleeding and save his life. But it still isn’t fair.

He’s missing one entire organ now, and isn’t that just the biggest mind-fuck? They’d given him all the inoculations and booster jabs he needed before they left the hospital, boosting his immune system as best they could now his spleen is no more, but he knows he’ll have to be careful of infections for the rest of his life. That’ll be difficult if they go back on the run like before.

That thought bursts his little bubble of self-pity. Hannibal won’t let that happen, he’s promised. Ironic, really, that one of the main reasons Face left the team at all had been to find someone to look after him for a change. Now, he finally has that, finally has Hannibal taking care of him, though not exactly in the way he always wanted.

All the way through his recovery, Hannibal has been there, holding him, soothing him, comforting him. Promising him the whole world when he’s stronger. Promising him they’ll find a way to make it work, that he won’t let Face ever be unhappy again.

They have another fortnight at this beach house, which apparently belongs to a rich client the team helped a couple of months ago. Without Face, of course. The client had even been able to recommend a discreet local doctor, who had been out to check on Face and his healing surgical incision a few times. Everything is healing just as it should, apparently. It will all just take time until his muscles knit back together.

And Face just doesn’t want to wait that much longer. Watching as Hannibal jumps to catch a particularly high throw of the ball, all that long gorgeous body on display, Face really thinks he doesn’t want to wait.

There have been gentle embraces, and supportive arms around his shaking body. As he’s grown steadily stronger, they’ve slept in the same bed every night, Face’s head nestled on Hannibal’s strong shoulder, the older man’s arms carefully wrapped around his body. There have even been one or two make-out sessions, with Face nestled in a pile of soft pillows, Hannibal propped up on one arm over him, careful not to put any pressure at all on his body as they kissed the hours away. The older man would stroke his free hand over Face’s upper body, up and down his arms, soft circles over his pecs, caressing his neck and collarbone. Never straying further down, past that thick dressing covering most of his stomach.

The first time they’d done that, the tender touch and soft kisses had sent Face to sleep. He’d woken hours later to find an amused Hannibal lying next to him in the pillows. But the second time, Face had wanted more, even as he knew his body just wasn’t anywhere near ready. And the third time, just this morning… Well, he was nothing if not frustrated now.

No rush, Hannibal had said. No way on earth he would risk hurting Face further. They had all the time in the world after all, and they’d already waited for so long. But still, Face thinks this really isn’t fair.

At least all this down-time has given them a chance to talk, a little, when Face hasn’t been knocked out on painkillers or sobbing in pain. Hannibal has plans, ideas for the future, and as Face’s strength returns he is more and more excited to try them. Any of them. All of them. They won’t get it right first time, most likely, but if they’re both determined – and they are, he knows that – they’ll make it work.

He hasn’t even missed his little house, not really, though his misses some of his neighbours and friends, and especially his cat. He certainly doesn’t miss his job, glad he’s still managed to avoid the question whenever the guys ask. They’ll laugh and tease when they find out he was doing telesales. But all of that feels very far away right now, and a part of that is due to his wound and recovery, though more of it is to do with the fact that, even though he’s still weak and drained, this feels more like home than anything else ever could. Home is with Hannibal, and with Murdock and BA too, wherever they are. 

Soon, Face thinks with a smile, as he hears BA moving around in the kitchen outside his room. The big guy will be through in another few minutes – Face is due another round of pills, and he’s supposed to be napping right now. But all he can think about is soon. Another week or two and he’ll be back at full strength, then they can start house hunting, and won’t that just be fun! And more importantly, soon he’ll be able to show Hannibal exactly what he’s been missing all these years. Soon. 

* * *

Face looks so still and peaceful, curled up on his side facing away from the door towards the window. BA pauses in the doorway, bottle of pills and glass of water in his hands, just taking a moment before he enters.

These last few weeks have been wonderful and difficult, often both at the same time – having all his team back together again, but seeing Face so hurt. He was definitely on the mend now, at last, though BA is looking forward to the day his friend starts complaining about taking his meds once more. A Face willingly taking painkillers is a Face in far too much discomfort for BA’s liking.

“You awake, man?” Announcing himself softly, he finally steps over the threshold into Hannibal and Face’s bedroom, thinking again how much easier it is to finally have things out in the open between the two men, after so many years watching them pining for each other but both too stupid to say anything. 

He really thought Face was sleeping again, though he’d been spending more and more time awake over the last few days, but a rough voice answers immediately, “Yeah, Bosco. I’m awake.”

After a moment, when Face makes no effort to turn – and it is an effort, BA knows, having heard far too many stifled gasps when the other man moved wrong – he walks around the bed until he can see his friend’s face in the shadows of the room. “Pill time. Up and at ‘em.”

Face smiles briefly, a bright and wonderful thing, before starting the slow climb up to a sitting position. BA notes how he is already hugging that pillow into his stomach, and worries for a moment that he is late bringing the painkillers. Wasn’t right that Faceman was still in so much pain.

“Slowly, man,” he hisses when Face stutters to a stop halfway, breathing hard and mouth pinched. BA barely manages to stop himself reaching out to help, knowing his actions wouldn’t be welcomed. He settles for a quick, “Don’t rush. Take it slow.” He’s no nurse, but he hates seeing Face struggling like he is.

Even in pain, it still seems Face can read him like a book. “I’m okay, big guy. I don’t need any help; I can do this. I can.” That might’ve been a lot more convincing if the other man hadn’t turned several shades paler before finally coming to rest against the pillows, mostly upright. “There, see? Easy.”

“Yeah. Whatever you say, Face.” BA buries his worry in action, thrusting the glass of water into his friend’s hand before popping open the pill bottle and handing him two. “Here you go.” And he waits for the complaints.

Which never come. Damn, he thinks, even as Face swallows the pills and finishes the water, handing back the empty glass. BA watches as his friend hugs his pillow a little tighter against his stomach, before Face mumbles, “Thanks.”

An easy silence falls between them, and for a moment BA wonders if he shouldn’t just leave Face to his rest. But then his friend sighs, rolling his head slightly on the pillow to look out of the window once more, so instead BA sinks down carefully on the bed by Face’s legs, careful not to bounce the mattress. 

It takes him a moment to work out exactly what he is seeing, so unusual the sight. “What are those crazy fools up to?” A flying beach ball is caught in mid-air by Murdock, who promptly turns his landing into an acrobatic somersault as Hannibal applauds. Despite himself, BA is impressed with the pilot’s agility.

“Hannibal’s letting him run off some of his excess energy,” Face explains with a smile, which turns to a slight frown. “And running off some of his own at the same time.” There is a definite note of frustration there, something a Face at full strength would have carefully hidden.

Studying his friend’s pale face, BA asks, “What’s up, brother? ‘Sides the obvious?”

A huff of air that could’ve been a laugh. “Just getting sick and tired of waiting.”

Well, that was suitably vague and could’ve covered a number of areas, but seeing the way Face’s eyes were tracking Hannibal as the colonel ran and leaped around, BA tries putting two and two together, hoping he makes four. “Waitin’ for you and Hannibal to set up home together, right? Slow it all down?”

“It’s all about as slow as it can possibly get right now, Bosco. Any slower and we’ll be going backwards.” Again with the multiple meanings, but the blush on Face’s pale cheeks tells BA his friend is talking about more than just moving houses. Really not wanting to have that particular conversation – he doesn’t need the image of Hannibal and Face doing ‘stuff’ in his head – he is therefore grateful when Face shakes his head slightly before adding, “And you know it’s gonna be all four of us setting up home, right? If you and Murdock both want to, of course.”

“Yeah, I know.” He does want to. He still needs to have that particular conversation with Murdock, though he thinks the pilot’s feelings will be the same as his own. They are a team, a family, and they’d both follow Hannibal and Face to the ends of the earth. Time to slow it all down, indeed, the four of them together. No more going it alone.

Again, silence falls in the room, and in the time it takes BA to glance out the window and back, the injured man has closed his eyes once again, though there is still a slight frown of frustration clearly visible on his face. He stands as carefully as he can, not wanting to cause Face any more pain, feeling he’s already done enough damage by not being there when the bullets started flying. Before he can leave, Face speaks up again, not opening his eyes, voice softer now. “It really wasn’t your fault, man. You know that too, right?”

Face reading him too well once again, even with his eyes shut. “Yeah. I do know.” His mind knows it, knows having the van ready and waiting had been vital in saving the other man’s life, but his heart still wonders if he could have done anything differently. “Sleep well, Face.”

Soft, steady breathing suggests Face has already drifted off, his frown smoothed away, and when those long fingers finally relax their grip on the pillow still held in place, BA slips quietly out of the room. Before he can close the door fully, Murdock bounds down the hallway, covered head to toe in sand, still holding that beach ball in his hands.

Fully prepared to hush the crazy idiot, BA is startled when Murdock remembers to whisper. “He awake?”

“No, he just nodded off now.” Hannibal appears behind Murdock, catching BA’s eye with a simple raise of an eyebrow. “Took his pills like a good little boy,” he reports, and the older man seems to relax a little.

Murdock turns away, looking slightly disappointed, but Hannibal makes as if to go into the bedroom. BA stops the colonel by placing one big hand on the older man’s chest. “Let him be, Boss,” he says quietly, tugging the door all the way shut with his free hand. He figures he’s started so he may as well finish, though the last thing he really wants to do is get involved in their new relationship. “He’s feelin’ a little frustrated with everythin’, especially with certain things between you two I don’t even wanna think about, if you catch my drift.”

A long pause, and he worries he might have overstepped a boundary, but then Hannibal blushes an interesting shade of pink, which blooms across his cheeks and runs down his neck. “I, er… Yeah, I know. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I don’t wanna know about it, and it ain’t really none of my business.” He knows he’s probably blushing too, glad of his darker skin. “Just don’t wanna see him unhappy. You thought up a plan yet?” Hannibal looks shocked, and BA quickly realises he needs to rephrase that question. “Hell, man, no. Not for that. You thought of our next move yet? Where we gonna settle? What we’re gonna do?”

Hannibal’s relief is almost palpable, as the colonel stands a little straighter, promptly producing a cigar from one of the many pockets in his shorts. “Yes, actually. Think I’ve got a couple of leads for some simpler jobs, low key, and a few possible houses that might do for us. All of us. Thought we could discuss them later, maybe when Face wakes up.” Back in control once more, Hannibal makes a vague gesture with the cigar before turning away, casting one last look at the closed door. “I’ll be out back. Call me if he - ?”

“Course, man.” BA stands guard in front of the door a moment longer, more than a little relieved Hannibal has a plan, and Face is resting peacefully. And he doesn’t have to think about them together any more. That’s two out of three of his family sorted. Now where has the other fool got to?

A dull, repetitive pulsing sound reaches his ears, soft enough not to disturb Face, and he follows it curiously through to the kitchen. Murdock is standing right in the middle of the room beside the island unit, bouncing the ball on the floor almost absently as he stares at the array of fruit and vegetables spread across the surface. At some point he’s clearly brushed the sand off his body and clothes – a little circle of it lies around him on the tiled floor.

“Hey man.” Murdock doesn’t even blink. Not good. How has he gone from being so hyper and energetic to being so quiet in no time at all? BA approaches carefully, still a little worried about his friend’s state of mind after everything they’ve been through. He keeps his voice soft as he asks, “Murdock? What you thinkin’?”

“Just thinkin’ about dinner.” BA heaves a mental sigh of relief. Talking is good. There will be no more breakdowns on his watch, not if he has anything to say about it. “And, y’know, stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“Yeah, stuff.” With one perfect bounce, Murdock lands the ball in the bucket by the kitchen door, finally blinking and looking up at BA, those big brown eyes searching his own. “Everything’s gonna change after this, ain’t it?”

“Things are always changin’.” Oh, very profound, he thinks with a mental frown, but it seems to be all the other man needs.

“Yeah, but I mean the big things. Like where we’re gonna live, and what we’re gonna do, and Hannibal and Face…” Murdock tails off, waving one hand in the air, clearly looking for some reassurance. BA can do that – he’s had enough practice taking care of his friend over the years, and it’s good they’re finally talking about the ‘big things’.

“Don’t think those two are gonna change much. ‘Cept they’ll be properly together now, at long last, after all those years dancing around the subject. And Face is gonna be all healed up in another few weeks.” It takes an effort, but BA manages to push away that hovering mental image once more, ploughing on. “As for the rest, only real change is it’s gonna be more stable, what we do and where we are.”

Murdock casts a quick, anxious little look at the closed bedroom door, then out the kitchen window to where the colonel’s tall figure can just be seen, pacing at the shoreline with cigar in hand. “I know. And it’s all going to be good, right? And you’re staying with us, too?”

“Right.” Damn, he should’ve had this conversation sooner. Murdock didn’t like change, and the uncertainty had to have been building. “Ain’t nowhere else I’d go. We’ll all be together, only it’ll be a bit different. Hannibal’s got a plan cookin’, so we’ll see what he comes up with.”

“It can’t be the same as before. We gotta make Face happy so he don’t leave again, and we all gotta be happy too. That’s all.”

Easy as that, right? Or maybe it really can be. “Don’t know about you, man, but after seein’ Face shot? I think livin’ the slow life with you all is all I need to make me happy right now.” Mentioning their friend’s wound makes Murdock wince, but soon there is a happier little smile on his face as he nods his agreement. BA claps one hand carefully on a skinny shoulder, surprised when Murdock yelps a little, flinching away.

“Sunburn!”

“You crazy – I told you to use the damn lotion!” But Murdock is already dancing away around the unit, giggling now, and BA doesn’t have the heart to scold him too much. 

Eventually Murdock comes to rest by the sink, and he looks back over his shoulder at BA with a wider smile. “As long as we’re all together, y’know I don’t really care what we do or where we go, right?”

“Right.” Oddly choked, though he’d never admit it, BA settles himself on a stool and watches as his friend starts singing quietly, pulling boxes out of cupboards in preparation for dinner. He doesn’t look too closely at what the pilot is planning for them to eat – with Murdock, it was often better to be surprised, even after all these years – but when a large glass of milk is deposited in front of him, he does offer a smile and a nod.

This crazy family of his are hard work, certainly, and getting them all settled and happy is going to be harder work still. But it’s all going to be worth it in the end, he’s sure of that. 

* * *

“Are we there yet?”

Hannibal just about manages not to laugh out loud. It’s the tenth or possibly eleventh time Face has asked that question in the last ten minutes. “You sound like a five year old, kid. What happened to all that patience you used to have when you were on sniper duty?”

“I wasn’t blindfolded then.”

“Would’ve made it difficult, I’ll grant you that.” He guides the car around another turn, stealing a sideways glance at Face as he does so. The other man doesn’t look too unhappy, to be fair, arms folded loosely across his chest, scarf wrapped around his eyes, small smile on his lips.

“So why am I blindfolded now? And are we there yet?”

“You’re lucky you’re cute, brat!” Hannibal knows Face could take off the blindfold in a heartbeat if he really wanted to, but the fact that he is still sitting mostly patiently tells him just how far they have come together. “Not long now, I promise. And it’ll be worth it.”

He can’t wait to see his boy’s reaction to the house he’s found, not far from the beach house they’ve been staying in while Face recovered from his gunshot wound, close to the small town they’ve all come to know and like. The area has everything they could need – they already knew the doctor, a few whispers of possible jobs have reached Hannibal’s ears, and then finding this place… It all seems too good to be true, but maybe it’s just the break they all need. The break they deserve.

One final turn and they are off-road, a dirt track the final approach, more than a little bumpy. Beside him, Face grunts softly, one hand straying down to rest over his still-tender stomach, and Hannibal has to swallow down the urge to fuss, contenting himself with slowing the car even more. Face is fine now in almost every way that matters, his muscles still a little sore, but all the major damage has healed up and he has his strength back, mostly.

Distracting himself as much as Face, he announces, “Here we are!” Immediately his passenger starts to unwind the scarf covering his eyes, but Hannibal reaches up to gently swat those hands away. “Leave that a moment. Trust me.”

Guiding the car to a stop just a short way from the house, he jumps out and hurries round to Face’s door, opening it and taking his boy’s hands to guide him from the car. He doesn’t let Face rush – in all honesty, keeping the blindfold on a little longer is simply a good excuse to help Face to his feet – but soon he is upright, and Hannibal slips around behind him, leaning back against the car and pulling Face gently back to rest against his chest.

“If you want it, this place can be ours by this afternoon,” he whispers in Face’s ear, slipping his hands onto slender hips. “Take off the blindfold.”

It’s worth the wait. Hannibal presses a kiss into soft curls as Face’s hands, visibly shaking a little from the excitement, rip off the scarf. A moment later there is a gasp of clear pleasure, a wonderful change from the pain-filled gasps which are finally becoming a distant memory.

“Oh, my…” Face’s soft exclamation is more a sigh really, and he twists his head slowly from side to side, trying to take everything in. “Are you kidding me?”

“No joke, baby.” It’s truly a remarkable place, more than a little ramshackle and in need of some TLC, but Hannibal figures that applies to the team as a whole as well. “Five bedrooms, three bathrooms - ” Face squeals a little at that, so adorably that Hannibal has to resist the urge to sweep him up in a hug “ – an outbuilding with a garage big enough to double as a workshop for Bosco. There’s even a gym in the basement.”

“It’s beautiful!” Face reaches up to lift his glasses out of where they have rested in his shirt pocket, slipping them on and blinking up as the house, presumably, comes into better focus. Hannibal still gets a rush of heat in his belly when his handsome other half pulls on the glasses – back at Face’s house, he’d been convinced they had been nothing more than a disguise, but the revelation that the younger man actually did need them had left him feeling bad for the gentle teasing he’d done. Face had suggested getting contact lenses, but there was no way Hannibal had any intention of letting that happen: they were truly stunning, framing his boy’s bright blue eyes perfectly.

“No, you’re beautiful, especially in your glasses.” Face huffs a little at that, but Hannibal ploughs on before he can object. “The place needs some work, but it’s basically solid, and it’s even furnished. Though probably not to your exacting standards.”

They stand there another moment, before Face takes his hand and together they start walking around the house, Hannibal seeing everything new through his boy’s eyes. It really had been pure chance he’d found this place, talking to the young bakery assistant in town while buying Face’s favourite bagels. Turned out his parents had recently died, and he’d been looking for someone to act as caretaker-slash-handyman for the old house, rather than selling it immediately.

Face is clearly in love with the place already, mouth slightly agape, blue eyes wide behind his glasses, a little lost for words as they walk the grounds together. It’s a huge place, all wood, practically a manor really. There is a wooden deck, a porch complete with porch swing, and even a little tower at one end. Murdock will go mad for that, Hannibal knows, but he’d left the other two men back in town, selfishly wanting this moment just for the two of them. Just for him and his love.

“John…” Face suddenly shakes his head, pulling Hannibal to a stop. “How can we afford this? We aren’t working, and I know the team’s finances have to be running low - ”

“Let me worry about that.” Now isn’t the time for details, though he knows his money-conscious conman will be even more excited when he finds the rent is minimal, with the owner even willing to pay them for fixing up the place. “We can afford it, easily. If you want it?”

He’s pretty sure he already knows the answer, but Face spins into his arms and captures his lips in a passionate kiss, breaking it after a second to pepper little pecks across Hannibal’s chin, cheek, neck. Each kiss is punctuated with a little “yes!” or “please!”

Hannibal laughs into the kisses, bringing his arms around Face’s slender body carefully. His boy has lost a lot of weight during his recovery, far too much really, and he feels almost fragile right now. Though of course, Face keeps stubbornly ignoring his weaknesses, determined to be back to normal already, as he proves now. He throws his arms up and around Hannibal’s neck, going up on his tiptoes before pulling away and hissing a little, dropping his arms back down to his sides.

“Okay?” Hannibal whispers after a moment, still keeping Face gently in his arms.

Breathing a little ragged, the younger man offers him a smile, the smile Hannibal knows is just a fake. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a twinge, honest.” There is pain in those blue eyes though, and Hannibal remembers his stomach muscles are still knitting back together after being cut apart for surgery.

They stand there together, in front of this house that could become their home, the sound of birds in the trees filling their silence. Face reaches up to lift his glasses off before nestling his head into the crook of Hannibal’s neck with a happy little sigh, and in return the former colonel rests his chin on soft curls.

“I can’t promise you this is forever, kid,” he whispers after a moment. “I wish I could. But we’re still wanted men, and all this could change in a heartbeat.”

“I know. But I don’t care.” Warm lips press against his neck. “The very fact that we’re trying, that we’re together… That’s enough, for me.”

Another kiss, then another. The kisses turn more insistent, Face almost sucking on his neck now, and for a moment Hannibal simply lets it happen, lets his body react, responding instinctively to his boy’s talented tongue, and those clever fingers teasing along the hem of his shirt, the arm of the glasses still held in one hand poking him gently in the spine.

He’s waited so long, spent so many years longing for this beautiful man in his arms now. He made the mistake of letting him go once before, and he hates himself for those six wasted months more than for anything else he’s done in a lifetime of black ops. And these last few weeks have been a new kind of torture – they’ve barely been apart, exchanging words of love and promises of better times to come, but Face had been so very hurt that anything more physical than simple kissing was not an option.

Face slips his hands down Hannibal’s back onto his jeans-clad ass and squeezes. Hannibal feels a growl ripped from his throat as his boy hauls their groins closer together, grinding ever so slightly, but it won’t be here, their first time, not outside in the dirt, not with Face still so sore in all the wrong places.

As much as they both want it – and he knows just how much his boy wants it, Face having complained most vocally about waiting, time and time again – it won’t be here. Before Hannibal has to find the strength to pull himself away, it seems Face comes to the same conclusion, gasping a little in what might be pain or merely frustration as he drops his hands and steps back a fraction. He’s so beautiful, Hannibal thinks as he tries to calm his raging erection, all flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips.

“Soon, boss?” his beautiful boy breathes. “Please? I want you so much… Love you so much…”

Swallowing hard, Hannibal leans closer and places one last tender kiss on his love’s forehead, before lifting Face’s glasses from between unresisting fingers and slipping them back on for him. “Soon, baby, I promise. Our first night here, in our new bed. Slow, tender, perfect – everything you deserve and more.” 

He slips one arm back around Face’s slender waist, careful not to squeeze too tightly, and starts to walk them back towards the car. He whispers in his boy’s ear all the things he has planned for them, while all the time he wonders how quickly they can be packed up and moved in. Face isn’t the only one who doesn’t want to wait any longer.

* * *

Slipping naked between the cool cotton sheets, he finds he can’t keep the smile from splitting his face in the darkness. No nerves, no pressure, though Face had expected both after so many years spent dreaming about this night. There is anticipation, of course, and excitement, but all the waiting is about to come to an end, at long last.

He’d fallen in love with the house on sight, and the fact that Hannibal had been the one to find it, the one to make all the arrangements, was simply the best feeling in the world. He’d always assumed that, when he was properly back on his feet, it would be his job to sort out their living arrangements. It always had been before.

But Hannibal is taking this new life of theirs very seriously indeed. Not just taking care of Face and finding them somewhere they can try to turn into a home, but taking care of the whole team. As well as the house, he’s managed to get BA a job working security at an MMA gym one town over – a bit of a drive, but the big guy is thrilled and loving it. 

Murdock, so far, is content to play handiman with Hannibal at the house, but to everyone’s surprise he’s got some ideas about setting up a website – an online A-Team consultation business, mostly advice, but in theory they could go out to help if a job needed it. Face never really realised just how good his friend was with computers until now, and he knows Hannibal has enough connections to make sure any website is secure and untraceable. It’s going to be interesting to see where that particular idea takes them.

They didn’t move in that same afternoon, in the end, much to Face’s disappointment. Hannibal had signed the minimal paperwork, using a set of false ID he’d already obtained that Face had doctored a little from his sickbed, and they’d returned with BA, Murdock and a set of keys to inspect the place properly.

Furnished it was, though it was dusty and clearly hadn’t been lived in for a long time. They’d need lots of little things like new sheets of course, but they’d all lived in far worse conditions over the years. Maybe the last few months had changed things a little for all of them, though – there wasn’t one bathroom Face was even prepared to consider setting foot in, and Murdock had point-blank refused to cook anything in the kitchen until they’d thoroughly scrubbed every inch.

From a man who cooked with antifreeze, who had cooked on campfires and improvised stoves around the world, that meant it had to be pretty bad indeed, although Face suspects a part of it is his team’s ongoing concern for his health. He really can’t afford any infections right now, and he finally has the opportunity to make them all clean to his high standards.

He shifts a little impatiently, rolling up on one hip to face the door and arranging the sheets to drape just so, falling below his ribcage. He doesn’t want to look too posed, but he wants to cover his scar. It doesn’t bother him, not really – it’s not like he didn’t have scars before, though this is admittedly on a different scale, splitting his stomach from the top to just below his navel, wider in the centre where the bullet entered his body – and he knows Hannibal isn’t shallow enough to mind it either. It’s still red and new, shiny almost, yet to fade to a paler pink, and he just doesn’t want anything to ruin tonight. 

Three days they waited before moving in. Three days during which he’s had to sit and watch his two friends and his almost-lover cleaning and doing the most urgent repairs, unable to help. Hannibal hasn’t let him even touch any of the boxes, and he tried to do some painting only to find his stomach muscles still not quite up to the job. He knows it’ll take time, but one more week of this and he’ll willingly go back to the doctor. And if Hannibal had made him wait one more day before this…

Finally, the sound of footsteps on the stairs. The house is still a little empty, a little echoey, but he expects they’ll soon fill it, four men settling into one place for the first time. For now, the echoes simply mean Face can hear Hannibal as he climbs closer – the older man had wanted to lock up before coming up, so Face had showered alone, which was probably a good idea under the circumstances. A shared shower might have been too much to resist.

Hannibal cracks the door open, just an inch at first before sliding into the room, a warm smile on his face as he stands there a long moment. Face knows how he must look in the low light from the beside lamp – fresh from the shower, hair still mussed, still too skinny after weeks of illness – and the scrutiny makes him want to squirm a little. He isn’t quite as confident in his body as he wants to be yet, but that will come, and tonight will certainly help. He wants this so badly. Wants John. Loves John.

“You’re beautiful,” Hannibal says softly, finally stepping closer, walking to the edge of the bed with a smile on his face. “What a gift I have waiting for me in my bed, at my age.”

Face laughs a little, shifting slightly beneath the sheet. “You’d better not be too old to unwrap your gift, John…” 

He watches as Hannibal starts to undress, slowly, putting on a bit of a show for him. Faded work shirt is folded carefully and placed on the chest of drawers. Shoes are lined up precisely beneath the chair. Throughout the whole display, Hannibal barely breaks eye contact, and Face can read his own lust and longing and love reflected there. They don’t need words. He swallows hard, feeling tears sting his eyes – so long, they’ve waited.

Not the first time he’s seen Hannibal naked, of course, but he drinks his fill of the view gladly. All long, lean muscle, still tanned from their time at the beach, his lover is truly a work of art. Hannibal’s arousal is obvious already, and Face marvels again at the sheer size of the older man. And Hannibal says Face is the beautiful one. 

At last Hannibal slides into the bed, facing him, and they lie together on their sides beneath the sheet, still not touching. They breathe together, sharing the same air, anticipation growing. Finally, one big hand wraps around Face’s hip, and a shiver runs up his body. In return, he strokes his own hand tenderly up Hannibal’s chest, feeling the tiny hairs there, before wrapping it around the back of the other man’s head and guiding him closer.

Face doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of kissing this man. Hannibal always kisses him like the first time, always demanding and possessive and somehow very gentle at the same time. But there is a new edge tonight, knowing what they have planned, what Hannibal has planned – every spare moment since the older man made his promise about tonight, each moment they’ve been alone together he has whispered in Face’s ear of all the things they will do together in the years to come.

Even now, lost in another searing kiss, feeling Hannibal’s fingers curl so tightly around his hip there are bound to be bruises… Even now, Face feels himself blush to remember some of the things Hannibal had suggested, some things he’s never even heard of, and he thought he’d seen and done everything in his time. Who’d ever have thought the straight-laced Colonel Hannibal Smith had such a kinky side? This is going to be fun, the physical side, Face can just tell.

As they continue to kiss, the heat and the passion building, Face remembers the other whispered promises. Promises of home and happiness, no more guns, a normal life. Whatever normal is.

His lover pulls back all too soon, breathing hard, moving the hand from Face’s hip to rest on his lower back instead, bringing their lower bodies flush together for the first time. Face chokes on a gasp, all thoughts of anything other than this moment driven from his head as his growing erection suddenly meets another, burning hot as it brands against his belly.

“Alright?” Hannibal is gasping a little himself, rolling his hips slowly to create the most delicious kind of friction, preventing Face from moving with that heavy hand on his back. “Too much?”

“Not enough.” Is that what his voice is now, just a whimper? The things this wonderful man can do to him… “Need you, John, please…”

Hannibal silences him with another kiss, his tongue thrusting in time with his hips. “Never have to beg,” he whispers. “Never again, my beautiful boy, my love.”

It should be hard and fast, desperate almost, after so many years waiting, after all the pressure and the drawn-out build to this moment. Maybe if this had happened six years ago, before they left the army, or even one year ago, before Hannibal let Face leave, it would have been. Maybe they would have just got straight down to business, and Hannibal would have simply taken Face hard, laying claim to him. But this, right now, this is perfect: kissing at first and just being together, erections sliding against each other, chests touching, sparks of pleasure shooting through his blood. This fire in his stomach building higher and higher – a good fire at last, no more pain. 

Hannibal brings one hand between them to stroke the back of his knuckles across Face’s lower belly, then up his new scar. Face gasps into the kiss – he’s so sensitive there, not painful exactly but every nerve singing at the touch – before his lover moves that hand lower, wrapping around his twitching erection, squeezing firmly just the once, moving lower still to cup his balls.

Soon, Face needs more. He tries to roll onto his back, both hands on Hannibal’s shoulders now to try to pull him on top, but to his frustration Hannibal resists, pulling back and keeping his weight off. 

“Turn over,” his lover whispers, and it isn’t in Face to refuse. He revels in the kisses peppered across his chest, then his shoulders as he rolls slowly to his other side. The sheet is gone now, somewhere, and Hannibal spoons in close behind him, stopping him before he can turn to his stomach. “There,” the other man whispers, hot kisses on the nape of Face’s neck, making him shiver. “Perfect, Temp. Just perfect.”

Each kiss sears through his body and Face can barely focus on anything but that growing need in his groin as Hannibal arranges his body carefully, tugging a soft pillow down to support his stomach, pushing one of his knees up, spreading him open. “A plan for everything, right, John?” he manages to gasp with a smile, fisting one hand into the pillow to take his weight as his lover’s warm body presses close against him once more.

“What did I always teach you, kid?” A nip to his earlobe sends shivers down his spine. “Three steps ahead is a plan.”

A warm hand squeezes his ass once, kneading the muscles briefly, before suddenly slick fingers stroke gently, tenderly over his hole. He gasps again, pure pleasure, as he rocks instinctively back towards those fingers, but they glide again and again over the tight muscle, rubbing in gentle circles but never going further, never going where he needs them, inside, and he whimpers a little with need.

“Relax,” Hannibal whispers, pressing more kisses everywhere he can reach. “I’ll take you there, baby, all the way.”

“Soon would be – oh! – good.” So hard now it hurts, but his lover seems to know, and those slick fingers move to stroke his aching erection once, twice, rolling his balls and making him purr, before his body is shifted yet again. The pillow against his belly is rearranged to swallow up his swollen cock, giving him that edge of friction he needs so desperately now.

Then there is a wonderful, warm finger pressing home and moving gently in and out, stroking sensitive inner walls. Two follow soon after, spreading him wide, pushing the slick inside, teasing him open gradually. Hannibal never stops kissing him, hot lips against his burning skin, sharp little bites over sensitive flesh, and he loses all sense of time as his lover makes his body sing, the desperate edge fading to a tight coil of pleasure low in his stomach. When three fingers spear him, he shouts loud into the room, glad once again that BA chose a room at the opposite end of the house, and Murdock is sleeping in the tower.

“Alright?” Hannibal asks again, but now Face can hear just how much it is taking for his lover to hold himself back like this.

“I won’t break,” he breathes, twisting his head to claim Hannibal’s mouth in a hot kiss of his own, sucking his lover’s lower lip in a way he’s learned makes the older man growl deep in his chest – just the way Hannibal is doing now.

And the fingers are gone, there is shuffling, then sudden heat and pressure and just the right edge of pain and stretch as Hannibal presses himself all the way in, one long slow glide that seems to go on for hours, years, until Face is so full he can’t move, can barely breath…

Hannibal has him in the perfect position, his sore stomach safe and supported, but the heat and stretch from his ass is threatening to overwhelm him. It’s been a long while since he’s done this, and he’s never done it with anyone Hannibal’s size, but again his lover seems to realise this, holding himself still and giving him time to adjust. Soon the burn fades to a welcome throb – Hannibal is so very deep, and Face is still so tight despite the tender prep, that every beat of his lover’s heart thunders through his lower body.

Catching his breath, Face nods once, unable to find the words, and Hannibal takes the hint, starting to move, pulling out almost fully before starting the long slide back in. There are more kisses, and a warm palm is stroking up and down his thigh, and every nerve in his body is on fire with the pleasure from Hannibal’s steady thrusts.

Face can feel his lover almost quivering behind him now, and each powerful thrust wrenches a little grunt from the older man, matching his own increasingly breathless cries. A sudden shift in angle sends pure electricity shooting up his spine as Hannibal hits his prostate, and he has to throw one hand out to keep himself steady. The shift presses his erection more into the pillow, and Hannibal is so deep now, that he can’t – 

“John… Oh, I’m gonna….”

Teeth find his shoulder, biting down, not quite breaking the skin, and then Face is lost, every muscle in his body locking, every nerve firing as his orgasm rips through him and over him.

As he rides the waves of sheer pleasure, he is dimly aware of his lover thrusting once, twice more, and then Hannibal is shaking apart behind him, a hoarse cry filling the room as liquid heat fills his body, his lover shooting his release all the way to Face’s heart.

In the aftermath, Face finds he simply cannot move, not even to roll back into Hannibal’s arms, away from the pillow, now sticky with his own release. He’s dimly aware of the stupid grin plastered on his face, and he knows his chest is heaving, but the wonderful little aftershocks rippling through his body make any kind of motion simply unthinkable.

Hannibal seems to have more strength, of course, managing not to collapse on top of him for a start. Face isn’t aware of when or how, but at some point his lover must have left the bed, slipping out of him while he was still shivering in pleasure. He finds himself tugged gently back into strong arms, the pillow thrown to the bedroom floor, and a warm wet cloth tenderly wipes his spent penis, patting gently over his stomach before cleaning his ass as well. Through it all he just basks in the afterglow, letting Hannibal take care of him, trusting him completely.

The cloth is thrown the same way as the pillow before Hannibal wraps himself around Face fully, spooning up tight, nose pressed to neck. Long, clever fingers tease gently up his scar once again, and Hannibal whispers, “Wow.”

Face has to swallow hard a few times before finding his voice. “’Wow’ is right.” Sleep is already calling, his eyes won’t stay open anymore, but he forces himself to continue. “’Amazing’ would be another good word. Worth the wait, John. You were worth the wait, my love.”

“That’s just the beginning, lover. We’ve got the rest of our lives yet to come.” The softest kiss to the top of his spine, before Hannibal finally asks the question Face knew was coming. “I didn’t hurt you?”

“No.” He’s sore, certainly, and he’ll probably feel it in the morning, the way all his muscles have had such an amazing workout, but there is no pain. Just sheer bliss. “You couldn’t hurt me if you tried,” he manages to slur.

Pressed as close as they are, Hannibal’s chuckle reverberates through Face’s ribcage. “Glad to hear it, baby. Sleep now. I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

“Love you,” he breathes.

And the last thing he hears before sleep finally claims him is, “Love you too, Templeton.” 

* * *

Looking down at the man sleeping peacefully in his arms, Hannibal wonders again at just what he must have done in his sixty years of life to deserve Templeton Peck’s love. It must have been something impossibly good, but he knows he’ll never figure it out.

One year they’ve been together now, one whole year of slowly building everything Face said he was missing from his life, everything Hannibal never thought he wanted but now knows he couldn’t live without. He still remembers every word his precious boy said that night, when Face had finally spoken up about what exactly he needed for a change, rather than focussing on what Hannibal and the team needed.

Turned out, in the end, most of what Hannibal needs is wrapped up in making sure Face is happy. They are still in the house he found for them, incredibly, now mostly repaired and decorated. The young owner is thrilled with everything they’ve done to the place, and is currently off travelling the world. He says he’ll want it back one day, far off in the future when he has a family of his own, but for now it is home to their little family of four.

Outside, the sun is slowly rising, filling the room with a soft light through the open blinds. It falls perfectly across Face’s slumbering form, highlighting the defined muscles of his back, and turning his messy caramel curls to the most perfect gold. The need to rise early is deeply ingrained in Hannibal, but these days he is more than content to lie still and hold his sleeping lover. Face always did have the sleeping habits of a teenage boy, and the army never really cured him of that. So Hannibal gets to simply enjoy the view.

Two scares, this year. Only two, when every moment he half-expects the army to come flying up the drive, surrounding the house. But there has been no sign of Decker, Sosa or any other MPs. He’ll never relax his guard fully, but if they haven’t found them by now, maybe they never will. Hannibal still sends out careful little feelers every now and then, through his network of contacts. Since they’ve settled, the search for them seems to have wound down even further, but the team still send in the occasional false sighting in far parts of the country. So far, they are safe.

Two scares isn’t much, in one whole year of barely moving. The first scare had come from their young landlord, who had simply asked outright if Hannibal, who he knew as Jonathon MacDonald, was really the leader of the infamous A-Team.

Hannibal’s thoughts had flown immediately to the emergency bags packed and ready to go in the van, to the gun taped under the coffee table in easy reach, but before he could even begin to deny anything, the young man had laughed in amazement and started asking for autographs, and old army stories. Turned out, he was a fan.

Murdock’s website has been an amazing success, turning them even more into underground heroes. Even Hannibal has got involved, though he will cheerfully admit he has no idea how any of it works, and he refuses to write a blog, whatever that might be. Thanks to his old contacts, the site is virtually untraceable, and they offer advice mostly as well as links to other organisations that can help when regular channels can’t. A few times, maybe once a month, they’ve gone out to help on a job, either two or three of them, never alone.

The most recent job had been back in New York, a businessman prepared to pay handsomely for the team to keep a close watch on his warehouse after it had been targeted by the very private security teams he had hired to guard it. Murdock and BA had handled that one together. Hannibal hadn’t wanted to leave Face’s side, not after his lover had given them all their second scare of the year.

A simple cold had turned rapidly very serious for Face, and he had ended up spending two weeks in the hospital battling pneumonia. Hannibal had never fully realised just how seriously any infection would hit the younger man now, and it had been a timely reminder of just how precious their new life together really is.

As for the rest of the team, BA is in deeply love with a woman from his gym, a feisty lady with an attitude to match his own and a strength not far off either. Hannibal has never seen his boy so head-over-heels before; she’s already been round to meet the team, and been taken into their confidence. They’re a good pair, Bosco and Shandra, and he thinks the time might be coming when Bosco leaves them to start his own family.

Murdock is still Murdock, of course, and Hannibal hopes nothing will ever change that. The website keeps him more than busy, and it’s making them more money than Hannibal could have imagined. He’s going through flight school all over again just to get back in the air; not even Face could forge a pilot’s licence for him, not with all the security checks, but Hannibal gets the definite impression Murdock is enjoying scaring the hell out his supposed ‘instructors’ with random displays of creative flying genius.

And Face. His wonderful, loving Face. Hannibal smiles as he carefully hugs his boy a little closer to his chest. It’s been amazing, discovering a relationship with this man he’s wanted for so long, yet never thought he could have. The sex is amazing, of course, the physical side of things as mindblowing as he could ever have dreamed of, but the deeper connection and love they have now – that has truly been more than he ever thought he’d have in his life.

They were always close, before, but Hannibal had never realised how much more they had to talk about, how much he never really knew about his lover. He’s no fool; he knows there are some things in Face’s past his lover will never talk about, and there are certain things Hannibal hasn’t yet shared with his boy either. But they have time. 

It isn’t perfect, of course, but it’s very real. They argue and clash as they’ve always done, and Hannibal still finds his boy tests his patience at times. Staying in one place has proved to be no hardship at all, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss the adrenaline rush from the lives they used to lead, and he knows Face gets frustrated with him when he starts to get bored. His lover has gotten good at reading the signs, when Hannibal just has to go do something more than mowing the lawn or painting the deck, and will usually bring him a particularly tasty job from the website to sink his teeth into. It’s a good compromise.

Face hasn’t been on one of their jobs, not a single one. Hannibal would never dare to say anything out loud – he doesn’t feel like having his nose broken – but Face really has turned into a househusband, taking care of the shopping, organising the cleaning rota, looking after all their pets. Two dogs and three cats, so far, not to mention the goldfish who lives in the tower with Murdock – it started with just the one dog, but each of his three boys has brought home a stray or two and Hannibal finds he can only smile and nod. The house is certainly big enough, but no more, now. Enough is enough. Face’s cat from New York, Jasper, never did join them in the end – Face thought, and Hannibal agreed, the drive was too long and unfair for the little creature, and he was happy in his new home by all accounts.

Face stirs a little against his chest, heaving a soft sigh before falling still once more, and Hannibal lets his own eyes drift closed. If he spends too long analysing everything they have, everything they’ve done, it all might vanish. He truly considers himself so lucky to have everything he has in his life right now. He never thought he’d be in this position, with the man he loves more than life itself, with the man he has changed his whole life for.

And he wouldn’t change a thing, never again. Not unless Face asked him.

* * *

Face can tell the exact moment Hannibal falls back to sleep. He loves lazy mornings like this, when he can just soak up his lover’s warmth and strength, when neither of them has to get up for anything. Hannibal always swears he can tell when Face is asleep and when he is just faking, but Face knows better. A year spent getting to know this man in a whole new way has given him many new ideas to fool him, although they’ve vowed to never hide the big things from each other.

Hannibal made him promise to never hide his feelings again, not to bottle everything up until he couldn’t cope anymore. That’s been a hard promise to live up to, after a lifetime spent guarding his emotions and putting on a front for the whole world to see, after trying to be everything his team needed him to be. But having Hannibal’s love has made it easier than he thought, even if he does still need to be wrapped snug in those strong arms before he can talk about certain things from his past. And there are certain things he may never feel strong enough to share, but he knows Hannibal understands that, and loves him anyway.

They’ve talked about everything that matters, certainly, and Face is truly happier than he thought he would ever be. Everything he was missing from their life during those six years on the run, everything he wanted to try and find for himself, he’s found in Hannibal’s arms. He wanted somewhere to call home, and they have that, even though he isn’t stupid enough to believe they can spend the rest of their lives here. They might have to run tomorrow, but if that happens, he trusts they are strong enough to start over somewhere new. He knows Hannibal will never take them on the run again like before.

He wanted belongings, possessions, and he has more than he could ever want. Simple, material things like designer suits and shirts, like an expensive coffee maker and as many different face creams as he could ever use – the wrinkles are definitely starting to appear now, much to his horror and Hannibal’s gentle amusement, as well as the first few grey hairs. But again, if they have to run, he thinks that, as long as Hannibal is by his side, he doesn’t need all those things. It sounds cheesy, but all he really wants to possess is Hannibal’s heart, though he’ll probably never get the courage to say that out loud.

He wanted to find someone to take care of him, to love him and protect him, and Hannibal has done all of that and more. Face doesn’t know what he might have done to deserve Hannibal’s love, but he knows he’ll never figure it out, nor does he want to. The relationship they have, the love they have, is everything he could ever have dreamed of and so much more. This is so much more than he thought he had with Charissa, and so much better. 

They’ve talked long and in depth about family, and marriage, and the future. Hannibal doesn’t want children, thinking he’s too old and set in his ways, and it took Face a long time to convince his lover that kids were never really a part of his plan either. Yes, he wanted a family, but it never mattered to him what shape that family took. Hannibal is his family now, as he has been for a long time. He can’t really imagine the pair of them with a kid, and at the end of the day, they have a house full of pets and a Murdock – Hannibal had laughed at that, the worry falling from his eyes. 

Daring to snuggle a little closer, Face pushes his nose into the hollow at the base of his lover’s throat, inhaling the smell that is uniquely Hannibal. He’ll enjoy this moment while it lasts, enjoy every second he has with this incredible man. He can tell Hannibal is getting restless again, and the time is coming when Face will need to find a safe yet challenging job to send him off to tackle. He’d always thought he would miss the adrenaline rush a little more than he does, but Face finds himself content with their simple life here. He works part time, does some volunteer work, captains a soccer team in the local league, and just enjoys being around the house and his friends. Maybe, if he hadn’t been shot, that would be different, but he knows his own limits now. That scar on his belly is a constant reminder of how lucky they are to be together, and his recent hospital stint has reinforced his desire to stay retired from the whole Soldiers of Fortune gig. 

One day, maybe, Hannibal will reach the stage where Face is now. One day, perhaps, it will be the former-Colonel’s turn to say ‘enough is enough’. But until that day, Face will take everything he can get, thankful they have found a way to make this work, this love they share. It’s enough for him, to love and be loved, and he smiles against Hannibal’s neck, drifting back to sleep himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written at ATeam-Prompts:
> 
> Movie Face wants to stop what they are doing. He’s fed up of it and wants more from his life. But he doesn’t want to leave his family so he keeps quiet until he can’t any more and it all explodes out. How do the team react? Sympathy? Apathy? Anger? Cold? Bonus points if him wanting out finally pushes him and H together.


End file.
